Scream
by Shanowa
Summary: Rattatak. Obi-Wan gets tortured by Ventress and everyone else thinks he's dead, but the force sends Anakin a hint. From captivity onwards. Violent, dark. Later: Hurt/Comfort.
1. Prologue

**First as always: ****Disclaimer: Made for fun, not profit and all the characters, places, names,... belong to George Lucas and his Star-Wars team. I do not own anything of it.**

******Rated M mainly for graphic violence.**

_**So, my second english story (*proud grin gg*) ****One-shot. Short scene on Rattatak, Obi-Wan gets tortured from Ventress, very dark and brutal.  
**__**Explaines, why the Obi-Wan in my stories always has a scar on his right shoulder.  
**__**I'm again sorry for mistakes, did my best to avoid them... **_

**Reviews and criticism are really really appreciated and wanted, (Need to improve my english) so please, please, press that little button beneath the text;) **

**Enjoy**

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**Scream**

It's dark.

Darkness everywhere.

It crawls into the last dusty corners of his mind, playing tricks on his thoughts and cruel games with his emotions. It suppresses the light, twists his very essence to something he would not bear to be. A monster. Like the Sith assassin in front of him, who is doing this to him, who is torturing him in this very moment, an vicious attempt to make him joining her, to become a part of her world.

But he is not broken yet and he will fight her till his soul lies splattered and crushed in front of his bare feet. His face is covered by a steaming, sweaty film of drying blood and his bare upper body revealed to the cold blades of her weapons collection, revealed to her burning hate. Exposed to her always dark moods.

He muffles a scream and bites his tongue in order to avoid giving her this satisfaction. Instead, he just moans again.

Another cold slush of air passes his closed, blue-green, sometimes grey eyes. Moments later, he feels a new spot burning on his body, filled with excruciating pain as the sword slices through his pale skin. His battered body revolts against the everlasting pain and the severe injuries sprawled over it.

The monster laughs and he struggles hard to keep his mouth shut.

She licks over the new scratch on his deaf abdomen and he feels himself shuddering from disgust.

He's trembling and finds himself longing for merciful death. Although he knows the monster will not release him from his agony that far. He's weak, yet still far from death and it will savour every moment of the pleasure it will get with him exposed and helpless as he is.

Another slice, another gash, another groan and another fit of hysterical laughter.

He goes limp and hangs now awkward in the chains which keep him tied up to the wall. His shoulders protest painfully, but his legs are not longer able to support his weight and they eventually have given out completely. He hangs his head and drifts into his own, in moments of agony created world buried deep within his memories where the pain can't reach him.

He can see them all there.

Qui-Gon, soothing him, easing the pain.

Anakin, trying to comfort and reassuring him that he's not been forgotten yet. His Padawan may still be oblivious to his torment, but if he is meant to survive this, he knows he will find him. Save him from the merciless hands whose master savours every moment he suffers.

Siri, how it aches to know she grieves for him, suffers, for him being probably assumed dead. Oh, how he longs for her now, when the pain breaks all his inner shields. When his restraint vanishes under the pressure of the dark, because of the shire need to hang on every little flame of light he ever experienced.

Yoda, Mace, Kit, Luminara, Bant, Garen, Reeft, even Alpha. He holds on on them, holds tight on the pictures in his head.

But his strength dwarfs. Not only his sore muscles, but also his stubborn will is about to break.

He doesn't want to break, yet know he is close to his fall. Fall into the darkness.

How it aches to know he causes suffering. How it aches to watch Ventress fading deeper and deeper away into the dawn, watching how she dooms her own fate.

He occasionally catches himself hating. Hating her, her masters for forcing her to be the monster, the universe for it's coldness, the republic for being purpose for his suffering, the order for abandoning him and her, Anakin, for being so oblivious, Siri, for being loved by him, the live, for denying him to die and himself for feeling all that hatred.

He even damns the force for condemning his soul.

He's been forced to eat muscle maggot, which tears him apart from inside and Ventress seems to get angrier and angrier every time she visits him to push him farther and farther to his limits.

The sinews in his shoulders are all but ripped and he barely dares to move. She bit him his tongue hard enough that he's not capable of speaking properly any more. He just can groan and keep his mouth shut when she tries to force him into a kiss.

The tight control he had over certain reactions of his body lacks, she is now able to violate him and he endures it, without protest in order to prevent mutilation. She enjoys herself in humiliating him and taking every last bit of his dignity.

But he is determined, to keep his head up, to endure it, because as long as she is occupied with him, nobody else gets harmed or slaughtered by her. She can't cause to much damage, being so revetted by his agony. And his Padawan's survival is much more likely without her. He has sworn to protect him, and he is still willing to keep that promise as long as there is any blood left in his veins.

He owes him that. Him and his dead master.

He finds himself astonished as he realises one day, that a rescue is highly unlikely now and an escape even more, if not impossible. He finds himself accepting the close death, even gaining for it and the salvation brought along. But not yet. Not today.

But he also feels that this day, this day will bring change. The light side is crying.

Because today she decides to unleash her most powerful weapon on him. This day he will learn what real pain means.

And the truth about a rumour an ancient mystery, long forgotten and dusty, hidden within the most secret and strictly forbidden Holocrons in the Jedi-Temple's archives. Only vaguely mentioned.

He feels her approach, a slight shudder in the force and doesn't know yet, that this will be the last signature he feels for a long time, the last time he will feel anything in the force for what will seem to be ages.

And he feels another presence. Not a presence of a living being, not even a thing. It's shadow, darkness and death. An ancient, tainted presence being kept alive by the shire intense of anger, agony and hatred deep inside it's core, left there by a long neglected force of evil.

A pale light glint falls on her hand and permits him to catch a short glimpse on the whip in her hands. It writhes in it, like it's struggling to bear the light it is carried through.

Like a black snake, lurking and trembling in excitement to sense it's next victim so close.

Her eyes reveal a ludicrous anticipation and sends a chill down his spine, but he's too tired to feel fear. He is being freed from the chains and dragged into the very centre of the room, forced to knee on the frosty stones, head bend. He keeps his gaze on the floor and struggles to release raising fear into the force. He braces himself for the blow and senses her lifting the whip.

And the whip whispers its joy, encouraging, no, ordering her to strike. And she strikes.

He tears his head back until his throat threatens to rip, every muscle in his body tenses and every nerve screeches in intolerability. His vitals are ripped into tiny pieces, his blood freezes and boils at the same time and his shoulder, his right shoulder, where the whip sliced his skin and cut his very essence, bursts out into flames of pure agony. And the greedy flames are not satisfied with his body, they lick deeper into his mind and and tear his soul apart and fill the holes with the dark side.

Obi- Wan Kenobi screams.

And while he is still screaming, trying desperately to soothe the agony in his body, trying to escape the memories and visions torturing and blurring his soul, Ventress slams a black, marked mask of evil over his distorted face. The strike broke all his shields. Now it is time for the dark mask to do its work. And it's already doing what it is designed for. It has already started to take control.

It is time to break the Jedi.

The Jedi hasn't stop screaming yet.


	2. I Alive?

**Disclaimer: All recognisable belogns to George Lucas and his team. Every character, every planet and place and are a product his imagination. I do not own anything!**

_**So, here's the first chapter. I originally wanted to write a one-shot, but now it's already a two-shot... And I think there will be more following.  
Anyway, this is a very short chapter, I shamefully have to admit that it's even shorter than the prologue.  
And I was again struggling against spelling mistakes, hope I got them all, or, at least, the most. Sorry for them.**_

_**Please, review and criticize, because it's so much easier with a feedback to carry on and it's much more fun then, too!**_

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**Syntyche and Pronker: Thank you sooooooo much for your reviews! You were really, really encouraging:D**

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**Enjoy!**

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**I.**

**Alive?**

Someone screamed.

The voice haunted Anakin in his dreams, during the numerous nightmares he received every night.

But this night, this night was different.

He wasn't seeing his master's death again and again and again, wasn't forced to watch him die in the fire, his body engulfed by greedy flames his scream suffocated by heat and dark-grey smoke, burning in eyes and lungs, blurring his vision.  
He wasn't forced to see a glowing metal plate, the ripped upper part of one of the Walker's leg, sliding through the air and slicing through his buried master's throat, and so also through the bond they shared, bringing every last attempt to get out, to survive to an end.

It didn't even happen that way, or at least Anakin didn't exactly _see_ that, but even so he was haunted by the picture as it looked like it had felt when their bond suddenly got quieted. It wasn't _shattered_, however, for he still could sense it anywhere in his mind, but it was useless, an endless rope in the force, tying him to the darkness.

No, this time, it was nothing, just dark nothing, that scared him to death.

He thought it would hurt. Obi-Wan had once told him, it would hurt. Hurt like hell. Head in pure agony. The force, twirling around you, allure with brightness and light and warmth and betraying you for the coldness inside your heart for the loose, still bleeding ends of one of your souls deepest parts still lying around somewhere in the depth of your mind and denying you rescue, feeding your anger and grief, dragging on your sanity.

He told him, because he had known what it was like.

He had lost his own master.

As Anakin had now lost him.

_Master, oh why? Why you, of all beings? Why you, when I still need you so much? Why did you abandon me to the cold, endless galaxy? Can't you see how lost I am in between all those stars without you, leading me? _

_Can't you see how alone I am? _

Alone. Yes. He hadn't felt so alone since Qui-Gon had taken him away from that damned dusty desert planet.

With Padme, so far far away on Coruscant and Obi-Wan dead, joined in the force. The force which was meant to be his friend, meant to help him save his beloved ones, not let him watch their death, which had betrayed him in the very moment he had needed it the most.

Padme, oh how he missed his Angel now. How he longed for her arms, for her light flowery scent and the slow, regular beat of her heart, throbbing against his chest. How he missed her soft voice, gently trying to comfort him, give him peace even if there was neither the one nor the other for him to find.

But the pain of his aching heart, missing her so much that it became all but unbearable was nothing, _nothing _compared to his crushed soul, torn apart by the absence of its lighter half.

He would never ever see that auburn thick hair again, sticking up with the same stubbornness as its owner sticks to life, never feel the cool, smooth skin of gentle caring, yet strong hands caressing his cheek comfortingly. Never see the amused sparkle in blue-green eyes and the half smirk, accompanying dry, intelligent humour.

It hurt so much.

It hurt too much too think about.

And when he now, sat up and buried his sweaty face in his hands, one warm and soft, the other cold and hard, he felt tears streaming down his cheeks. It brought no relief and a quiet sob emerged painfully of his chest, where he felt aching pressure increasing.

Inside his head, the force still screamed. Screamed in an extremely unnerving way, expressing pure agony in a voice, so familiar, yet so alien when being so loud.

_Then, why, why have you taken him away from me when you now cry after him and feel the same pain and grief I feel? Why kill him when you mourn him now, when you miss him so strongly?_

Something pulsated behind his temples. Wasn't Obi-Wan the one with the headache?

Obi-Wan...

The voice was his. The pressure increased and his battered soul winced.

Obi-Wan...

_No, no stop this! Stop it, stop hurting me! STOP IT!_

But the voice wouldn't listen. He lied back onto the hard mattress and curled into a ball, legs pulled into a fetal position.

_STOP IT!_

He yelled in his thought as the voice raised from his subconsciousness a little more. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the hands to his ears, tears still trickling from his eyes.

_- Anakin!- _

He jumped, fell out of the small cot and stared in astonishment. Then startled as he realized he was probably just messing up again. A chance? He struggled to sit up and concentrate.

Was it possible, could it be possible...?

He didn't dare to go so far as to allow himself feeling even the slightest hint of hope, but instantly cracked his tight shields and lowered them fully, opening himself completely to the galaxy and offering the force his mind. He knew he was vulnerable now, providing an easy target, but he didn't care, not even thought about his defences.

Instead, he just begged the force to send hi more to give him something to hold onto, so that he could start his own search within its depths. He begged for hearing that voice again, as battered and sore it had sound.

Something was touching the outermost part of his presence, there, too slight to recognise, blurred and unfocused, but it was there. It was there.

He reached out for it.

_- Anakin! Ani, please...please make it stop! Help me...make her stop... _-

The voice silenced, the presence began to fade away, dragging on its last...no remaining strength left. It begged to be released, to vanish into eternity, but Anakin had his grasp onto it and he refused to let go, embracing it, soothing it and trying to find a way in, to find a hint of the whereabouts of its owner. There was no distance in the force. It could come from everywhere.

But he didn't care, he didn't care for he now knew he were alive, in pain and struggling with death, but alive and he was determined to get there, before the other one lost his fight. He just had to know where there was.

And, ignoring every warning and scolding for being reckless with such things he ever heard,

with a deep breath he dived into the it, deep into the force presence in his grasp.

For a moment, there was nothing.

But then, it all crashed down upon him. A hurricane of pictures and emotions.

A hurricane of pain.


	3. II Numb

**Disclaimer: Still not mine. I'm (unfortunately) still not George Luces. Neither am I his clone;)**

Ok, so here's the new chap. I'm so sorry for the late update!  
I know there are already a LOT of stories about the ordeal on Rattattak on ff (for example "What the heart hides" from **Valary Scot**...check it out it's one of the best H/C fics I ever read!)...but the topic struck me literally (ok, not literally) to write a fic about it. I try to write something new, however, and therfore it's slightly AU.

**Warning:** Rated** M** for graphic, brutal violence. Torture scene!

**ObiBettina7 **has betaed (strange word) the story for me and did a fantastic job on it. **Thank you so much!  
**And** RoMythe **came up with the idea for this chap and also with some for the next chaps. She really has great ideas! **Dankje wel!**

**Enjoy!**

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**Syntyche: **_Thanks so much for your reviews! Glad you liked it... Hope you'll enjoy this chap as well. It will take some time till Anakin reunites with Obi and I'm not sure yet what to write about his recovering... but I hope you'll like it! And RoMythe said you were the reason she read the story so thanks for that as well;) _

**Pronker: **_Thanks! Yep, its definitiv dark;) Hope you'll stick to it:D Thanks for reviewing!_

**ObiBettina7: **_THANKS SO MUCH for the brilliant betareading! You were my rescue on that;) And thanks for the advices, you're right cursiv really works wonders with emphazising. Hope I got everything you marked:D And thanks for the review!_

**GuitarGirl496: **_Thank you, I always try to write from inside a character, the individual feelings and perspectives. Thanks for the comment!_

**RoMythe: **_Hey, thanks so much for your support and ideas! You really helped me with that! Hope you'll like this one... and thanks for the correction;) _

**SongoftheDarquePhoenix: **_Thanks for the review...Hope you like the next chap:D_

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**II.**

**Numb**

He had faded away into darkness. His mind was restless, always on the run from the never ending agony, pulsating through every nerve and every vein within his battered, worn out body.

He tried to open his eyes but it was hard – so damn hard.

And his lids were so damn heavy.

He was tired. Too tired. Tired of the pain, tired of his body, the mask, his mind and sanity, ripped into a thousand tiny little pieces.

And the pain, it was indescribable. Every technique he had developed in his long senseless battle against his own collapsing nerves was now useless, every struggle pointless since his encounter with the whip.

He couldn't even think any more, just feel. Feel exhaustion and tiredness. But he was not even allowed to sleep. The mask prevented him from it, denied him even that small mercy. From giving in to his exhaustion, from simply fading away into death. Sweet death. So close, and yet unreachable. He had never before begged that hard for death. Now he had, desperate to escape the relentless, excruciating and eternal ordeal he was forced to endure.

She'd promised. The Sith monster had promised him to finally take his pathetic live if he would just, open his mouth and end the silence.

He had only laughed at that, even if he had felt his chest bursting under the pressure and exploding flames had seared his lungs.

And she had hit him again. But never, ever would he tell her _anything_.

Because he wasn't allowed to share the answers with her and even if he was, he would never ever answer her.

Most of the questions had been about several republic's bases and Med-stations, but she wasn't really keen on the answers. There were just the foreplay.

No, the answers, she had been determined to get were about the Chosen One. His Anakin.

Oh, force, no matter what she would do to him, no matter how much he had to endure, never would he jeopardize his little brother's live. Never his destiny.

He had promised that himself. And he had kept this promise, had buried all his memories deep within and only shown her his pain when she had brutally penetrated his mind.

_Not Anakin. Don't tell her. Shut up! Shut up! Not Anakin! Shut up! Don't think of him! Shut up! He's not dead, he can't be dead. She wouldn't ask you if he was – NO! Stop it, you fool! Don't think! Shut up! Silence! Keep your shields! That pain, oh how that aches! Silence-..._

He had kept this repeating-wise running through his head and he had kept his promise and only that mattered.

He hadn't told her, right?

He would know if he had, he couldn't have ...He hadn't.

But now, all this was out of question, because he knew, even if he would finally want to, he wouldn't be able to, simply because he wasn't capable of speaking any more.

He was too tired.

Oh, he was so tired. It hurt so much. So much pain...Far too much...

_Stop it! Please stop it... Please... just stop it..._

His limp body jerked back from the impact of a new strike, but he didn't notice. He was completely numb to all the new injuries, too all the blows and bruises and gashes.

The only spot of his body, he still felt was his shoulder. Still pulsating in excruciating agony, causing crimson waves in front of his half-closed, dull eyes. The were now a grey-clouded dark-green, almost black.

His whole right arm was numb and paralyzed, useless, but he would accept it with pleasure if just the shoulder, the damn shoulder would finally stop screaming relentlessly within his head.

He felt himself fading away, further and further. Not into the mercy of darkness, not even into the deep shadows below his slammed shields. Not, the gift of loosing consciousness, of simply faint, remained a dream. Denied, like rest, like sleep, like peace and like death. He couldn't even manage a single, sensible thought now.

Captured in between dreamless nightmares and a blurred reality he hung limb and deaf from the chains hanging from the low ceiling, shaking from the cold around him and shivering from a fever burning deep in his bones.

He heard her next words. But yet their meaning remained clandestine for him for he didn't listen to any of her usually angry outbursts or alluringly whispered menaces .

"Since you seem to see no need for enough politeness as to answer the questions you've been asked, you also certainly have no need for your beautiful infamous ability to form words with your tongue and therefore,"- sweetly, she caressed his cracked lips with her thumb and slid a finger into his half open mouth. Had he realized it, he'd probably bit her. In the current situation, however, the only thing changing was an interruption of his rasp, irregular breathing by a dry coughing fit.

Her lips moved in a light smile.

- "Therefore you have to admit, you have neither the need for your delicious tongue anymore nor the right to keep it!"

Her eyes sparkled viciously in pleasant anticipation.

"You are lucky, though, as kissing without a tongue is rather boring, as you can imagine...

But still, You've been an impolite boy, Obi-Wan, your behaviour...almost has to be called rude...very dissatisfying, indeed. And rudeness has to be punished, don't you agree? "

She hauled a short dagger from her belt, its blade shimmering pale in the flickering red light of a single torch on the wall, burning with crimson fire.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, it'll be over soon. Just relax! It's just a cut..."

She waved and two rather dense looking Falleen approached. They gripped his bearded chin (as if he'd struggled at all), and his forehead and forced his jaw open.

Ventress buried her slim white fingers briefly into his over-grown, dirty beard and then sank the knife deep into his mouth, cutting through his motionless tongue.

He all but suffocated from all the blood welling from the deep gash and involuntary chocked violently.

Neatly, she removed the blood-soaked metal and replaced it with her lips on his mouth.

Her kiss was passionate and hungry. She didn't seem to be bothered by the steady flooding stream, soaking his beard and dripping from his chin in between them.

Gently, she pulled back eventually and slowly closed his mouth, making him swallow his own blood. It didn't stop the blood, though, as it continued welling through his lips.

Disgustingly, she licked the blood from her lips while she seemed to await any reaction of his.

None came. She frowned, disappointed.

Disappointment was dangerous, according to him being completely exposed to Asajj Ventress' attempts of mercy. But she just glared at the picture of misery in front of her, at its limp numbness and seemed to finally decide this pitiful creature was no longer of any use to the Sith witch and it was time to end the drama.

Not that she was in need of any assistance for that. She didn't even have to lift a finger for it.

Simple time would do. She just had to make sure, nobody would nurse the gash in his mouth. Ventress just had to tell the medics. They were always so eager to keep her prisoners alive, knowing that there live depended on the survival of the tortured. And they paid with their head in case of their failure. A life for another. This time, however, she would make an exception.

Perhaps. She just had to make sure, the massage was received correctly.  
And then lean back, enjoy the moment and wait.

Time was her ally.

As was the clone. The clone should watch his beloved general die. That'd definitely do his stubborn character some good. And prohibit further applying on the general's absolute authority.

Another wink to her not very light lackeys and the two stumbled beside her, always eager to serve, not because they shared her views, only in order to survive longer for a moment or two under her iron whip. "Madam?", one of them managed with a disgusting drawling accent in his voice.

She didn't even bother to twist her gaze on him, instead continued caressing the broken, yet still somehow fascinating all but naked body in front of her with her piercing view.

"Get me the clone" she whispered, her voice soft and sweet.

They stumbled off, one of them haltingly. She had broken his leg as discipline for dumbness and failing her orders as result a weak ago. She hadn't allowed him proper treatment.

He was going to limp for the rest of his pathetic life.

Despite this, it didn't take them a long time for getting the clone. Their luck.

Ventress was just considering if the Jedi was after all still worth for something. It was certainly a terrible waste, but still, it annoyed her. She was no longer in control, no longer able to cause any reaction. He was practically already dead and it _annoyed_ her.

She didn't like _anything_ out of her control.

No satisfaction any more. But still...Kenobi... such a waste on the Jedi. Like a victory for her deadly enemies.

She sighed, a half-melancholic mocking sound and turned to the dragged-in clone, lying now to her feet, frowning.

They had handcuffed not only his wrists but also his ankles. Probably, they'd struggled to hold him in place, after being unchained. So eager to escape. But he, of course, would never flee without his general being safe.

Well, the latter could be arranged.

_From a certain point of view_, as the Jedi were excusing their crimes.

She tapped him with her feet.

He was definitely in a better condition than the Jedi, his shape still slight muscular after so many weeks without a move, still feeling pain and very much awake.

He hadn't even grown a beard.

Probably another legacy of the Kaminoan gen-manipulated-vitro parentage.

She hadn't bothered too much with him, considering his immediate stubborn refusal of answering. He'd just repeated a stupid standard slogan, obviously a barrier already constructed by the Kaminoans in his early infancy. All but impossible to crack. So he neither proved useful nor attracted her in any way and was therefore also not worth to further engage with.

Nevertheless, she bent down to him now ask and whispered into his ear.

"See, there he is: your venerated general, hanging from the ceiling, helpless and dying like a stabbed dog. His very last moments. The last fight of a glorious warrior. But I'm being impolite, forgive me."

She cocked her head mockingly.

Would you like some Mela-jo Risepops while watching?"

He'd spat her in the face, hadn't she evaded neatly. She just laughed, backing out and finally leaving.

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Alpha growled and began his fight against the chains.

Determined to find a way. To save the general.

The Jedi was his responsibility, his assignment now. His live depended on his success now. His survival.

He relied on him. Skywalker did. The entire Republic did.

Kenobi was unique and irreplaceable for the republic. Men of his kind were always rare and therefore to be protected at any cost. A General, worth to be called General was hard to find.

As were friends to trust and rely on.

He couldn't afford to fail. It was out of question. He was one of them, even if he didn't want to be seen as one. And Alpha looked after his brothers.

Slowly he broke the cables, already half-cut in his rather painful trip to Kenobi's cell and stripped them from around his ankles. Then he started working on his wrist ties.

He couldn't fail.

He _wouldn't _fail.

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**So, what do you think? Please, review and tell me;) Next chap will be up soon!**


	4. III Run!

**Disclaimer: Hasn't changed, still not mine.**

So, the next chap:D  
Again betaed by **ObiBettina7 **who did again, a fantastic job!  
And again it was **RoMythe** who came up with the idea of the plot! **Thanks very much, both of you!**

**Enjoy, and please, leave a short comment;)**

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**ObiBettina7: **Thanks...I thought I needed something more special than 'popcorn' for this is supposed to be part of the Star-Wars fanfic-Universe;) Thanks for reviewing again and the betareading!

**RoMythe: **Yeah, he's really almost always the victim... a shame when you consider he's the best out there (at least in my opinionXD) Thanks, I'm glad you liked it, hope you'll like this as well... Thanks for the new review and your encouraging!

**SongoftheDarquePhoenix: **Thanks for the review! Yes, he still has his tongue... It's just rather useless at the moment... Hope you'll enjoy the this one!

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**III.**

**Run**

He panted harshly and couldn't quite manage to suffocate every sound he made. In his condition, that was no longer possible. Briefly, a feeling of guilt stung in his chest, but he quickly suppressed it. There was neither the time nor the need for shame for gagging his General, who now lay limp over his shoulders, motionless and much to light.

They couldn't afford being heard and captured again and the muffled groans of pain escaping the General's throat would only put them at further risk.

No time for worries. Alpha didn't particularly care what happened to him, but he had to get Kenobi out of here. He was not sure, how long the weakened man would be able to hold on, how long and far he would make it at all.

When he had freed him from the chains, keeping him upwards against the bloodstained, cold wall, he had simply sunken to the floor without making a sound, immediately limp and half-unconscious.

All the all but dying man had managed to croak out, was a beg to, _please_, free him from the horror mask of the Sith. Alpha hadn't fully understood why, he guessed, however, that it had something to to with those mysterious lifeforms within the cells of the Jedi, which, supposedly, were the reason for their impossible skills as well. For whatever reason, the fact remained that afterwards Kenobi's chest seemed to rise and fall a bit more free, his breath became a bit deeper, the grip firmer. And the eyes had turned back from an eerie, frightening golden glee back to the usual comforting cerulean, even though the changeable eyes were now all but green from the pain.

It had ached to see him so, but the General had obviously been relieved.

Alpha had felt anger rising then, burning like a fire of rage in his guts. His blood boiled. The witch was going to pay for that. How was it even possible to make such a mess out of this strong, gentle man. A brilliant tactician, a gentle, yet unbeatable negotiator, an indomitable, honest warrior, the model Jedi. And a fine man. Too good for this ordeal, probably even for the whole galaxy.

Not that Alpha had much time, or the muse to think about such things, but here, far beneath the surface of an unknown Planet, far away from the Republic or any kind of civilization for that matter, exposed to the moods of a vicious monster, he had let himself think. Let his focus slip for a few moments and actually _think _for himself about the war, the galaxy, even politics, remember places where he'd been, moments with his brothers, and moments of agony, of sorrow and grief after his various battles.

Let himself form an opinion about the Leaders, the Senate, the Generals, Skywalker, and Kenobi.

Something he'd never done before, never wanted to do. And he came to the conclusion, to the determination, that he had to rescue the latter. At all cost.

He had no idea how he had finally managed to crack the electric door open, but he didn't think much about that either. Fact was, he had managed it and that was all he had to know.

Carefully, he peeked around a smooth corner and waited for his eyes to adjust to the sudden flash of dirty yellow light in front of them.

An armed guard, human, as far as he could see, patrolled in front of a massive durasteel door, slowly closing in on them. And there, lurking on the top of huge broad stairs behind the human guardian, was a Gamorrean with a rather brutal looking, rusty axe clutched in his claws.

That broad, angled shape was unmistakable. Alpha was pleasantly surprised. Gamorreans were as stupid as they were strong, which was a rather impressive feat to manage. They had the brains of a Rancor in small (and tended to look like them, too).

So, this guy would not be a problem, for him, even in his battered, weakened state.

He carefully lowered Kenobi to the floor and shoved him into a small slot in the wall, just enough to be hidden from immediate sight.

Then he waited. But not for long.

The watch circled the corner, quite disregardful of his surroundings, humming quietly.

His neck burst with a disgusting crack and silently he sank to the ground. Alpha rid him of his outermost tunic and helmet and put it on, absently reloading the man's blaster while studying him briefly.

He could not be older than twenty. And yet, his face was already scarred with ugly, badly healed white strips, crossing his face from one eye to the other corner of his mouth. He would have been handsome, though, big hazel eyes and strong cheekbones.

A pity nobody would get the chance to acknowledge this any more.

He exchanged the limp, dead body with Kenobi's and once again shoved him over his shoulders.

The blaster at the ready, he negotiated the corner and headed towards the Gamorrean. The reptilian creature didn't even had the time to squeak. One shot was enough to end his pathetic existence as Asajj Ventress' slave.

Kenobi let out a muffled groan, but Alpha couldn't give it any attention right now.

A short squeeze of his battered arm was currently all he could give to comfort him. It had to be enough till they were up, out and away. And although he felt awfully sorry for the further pain, he must be causing with his movement, there was absolutely nothing he could do for the Jedi.

Hopefully, there would be medical supplies on whatever ship he was going to steal.

The massive looking door was indeed rather massive and obviously impossible to open without the associated key.

Frustrated, the clone kicked it a last time and then turned to climb down the stairs, when the Jedi on his back nudged him weakly.

"General?" He lowered him again and let him slide on the ground, holding him upright with one hand and removed the gag. "General, is everything...errr...not alright, but..."

The Jedi glared at him with strangely widened eyes, making him look like a curious, innocent child and shook his head violently, obviously unable to speak. Alpha suddenly felt a _very bad feeling _rising in his battered chest when it become clear, why the Jedi remained so mute. Blood gushed out from the half-open mouth, trickling down the already soaked throat. And the small boy just watched his own blood flowing, a bit astonished even.

Alpha felt his heart break once more at this sight.

"I'll get you out of here, sir. You just have to hold on, sir. Hold on and I'll bring you back to Skywalker, alright?"

But Kenobi only shook his head again and pointed at the door. He seemed willing to say something, his lips moved silently, but a dry coughing fit interrupted him. Alpha clasped him and tried to soothe him awkwardly, until he was calm again.

It remembered him of the battle on Kamino, when he had held one of his brothers in his arms. The young soldier had been dying and comforting him had been like comforting a child.

The strong, brave soldier had turned into a frightened small cadet again.

He had not been able to save the soldier, but he _would _safe the General. He jerked up from his dark thoughts when the door suddenly moved and clasped his blaster tight. Slowly, hesitantly, but it moved. Then he saw Kenobi. The poor man's face was contorted from exhaustion, his left hand was shaking violently, but pushed in the direction of the door with an invisible force.

Alpha knew how it looked, when Jedi used the force, but he never thought it possible for a Jedi in this state, for he knew how exhausting it could be for a Jedi after just only a tiring battle. He also knew that also Jedi could only take so much, but still, Kenobi didn't give in and the stubborn, heavy metal moved open slowly, but steadily. He immediately heaved himself to his feet and threw his entire body against the gate, using his full body weight in order to offer support to the Jedi's efforts.

They eventually forced the gate open far enough to squeeze through it into a narrow tunnel.

Light illuminated the way in front of them. The tunnel was open. Open and baiting with freedom.

Alpha felt the wounds and new exhaustion weakening him increasingly and his legs all but gave out under the Jedi's additional weight as he draped his body once more on his back.

All he could do now was hoping they'd be able to leave the planet untroubled because he was sure his fading strength would not allow him to fight any further ambitious battles.

It was very probable, however, that Ventress had already found out about Kenobi's absence and was now furious and eager to find them. He had to hurry up.

And with that thought, he increased his speed and ran through the tunnel towards the light.

When the sunlight finally embraced him and spread warmth across his face, he closed his eyes, breathed the fresh air and the rich, pour scent of freedom and stumbled out of the tunnel.

The wind blew over them, gently easing their pain. He could hear Kenobi's relieved sigh, but refused to put him down and take the rest, the break he so desperately longed for.

No time for that.

Quickly, he took in their surroundings and checked every direction to find the best escape route.

They were on a small platform.

Red bulky rocks built a high ring around them and prevented a further view. Only a narrow gorge extended itself in front of them, providing a way out, a short glimpse of hope.

Bribing with hope, with freedom and an end of the ordeal, baiting them with safety and a return to their friends and brothers, to the republic, with mercy, dreamless nights and painless days and rest.

Rest from the war, no matter how short it was.

Lured them with peace and was yet completely useless.

They would never make it. They needed a ship. And there was none.

_Back, and the next, _Alpha decided, feeling a strange ache for leaving the place, beautiful after months locked in a musty cell, chained and without proper light.

So he backed out, running back along the tunnel and down the stairs from where the guard had come.

Alpha had to struggle hard to keep himself from crying out loud as they eventually stumbled through another door, through a tunnel, pretty similar to the first one and then found themselves within a gorge, mistakable for the first.

Just one difference: this time, the slowly vanishing, crimson sun colored a small starfighter blood red. It was not exactly an one-man fighter, but hardly bigger, made just for a crew of three or four. Enough for them.

And as far as he could see, even with a hyper-space drive.

Clone Commander A-17 "Alpha" was anything but a religious or even spiritual man, but now, given the metallic miracle in front of them, he couldn't help but simply sink to his knees, eyes closed and thank every daemon and god, he had ever heard of.

He let his fingertips stroke over the rocky ground and shuddered in joy for plain, hard nature beneath his fingers and the cool breeze, caressing his slightly wet cheeks.

A soft groan from his shoulder, however, forced him back into the less beautiful reality and the increasing danger.

They had to get out of here.

He slowly opened his eyes and got to his feet, ready to head for the waiting ship, ready to clasp the General more tightly and enter it, ready for the final step into freedom, when -

A blurred shadow squeezed itself into his vision and with that small move, just that single step, all his hope burst into tiny little pieces. Blinking again, he unsuccessfully tried to banish it from the picture, to take it as a very vivid imagination.

He braced himself as the shadow moved closer, not willing for his eyes to adjust within the bright light.

They nevertheless inevitably did, in the end. Of course they did.

And he had just enough time to glare on a gloating tattooed witch, closing in, before his throat seemed to burst. He had to choke, but it unfortunately didn't hinder him to understand her soft sermon.

She managed to sound astonished, offended, even. As if they were just two disobedient boys, who had sneaked out of a school class to visit the girls in town.

"Oh, oh... Gentlemen, really. I was convinced, I could rely on your politeness. Such a violation of the rules of hospitality..."She sighed, sounding ridiculously sad "Obi-Wan, at least from you I expected more. After I already showed you how I punish such transgressions"

She forced his jaw open and shoved a finger between his chapped lips, ignoring the quiet whimper. It was blood soaked to the knuckles when she finally let go of him. Alpha could just watch, still held by an iron, invisible hand, but obviously all but forgotten.

"I'm afraid, this time I have to think of something a bit harder to forget, don't you agree, darling? And you'll be pleased to know we found the mask still at your service!"

Her pale tattooed face contorted into a malicious grin as she gestured towards her Falleen torturer, lurking in the shadows behind the massive, dark door.

It awaited them like the abyss of hell.


	5. IV Convince

**Disclaimer: Hasn't changed, still belongs to George Lucas and his Star-Wars team.**

**_Hey people, thanks for following the story so far:D_**

**_This one is really really short and late... It gave me a rather hard time.  
I hope I got them more or less in character, even if Mace is a bit bad tempered here;)  
I'll update as soon as possible..._**

**_Thanks to ObiBettina7 who has again made a wonderful job betaing it!_**

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_**Chibified Youkai 101: **Hey, I'm glad you liked it so far :D Sorry to disappoint you, but it will take some time till Anakin gets there...Have to be a bit more nasty to Obi... Although he already suufers a great deal here. So it'll take at least another two chaps... Thanks for the review, anyway!xD_

_**DraKarina: **Thanks for your comment! And I'm glad if you like it;) I'm currently writing a slash fic, but I'm not very far yet... _

**_RoMythe: _**_Thanks so much for all of your reviews! Äh...please don't bang your head anywhere because of the chap... feeling guilty now...xD Yoda enters room, glares on the screen and smacks his cane against my shin... "Hmmm, no patience she has. Dangerous that is for the future of the Jedi Order. But to rescue young Obi-Wan it might help" I clutch my battered shin and kick him out of the room, keeping his cane as prey;)  
No, seriously now... I have the strong feeling that you might be right with that guess *g* but unfortunately with this and another chap in between;)_

_**ObiBettina7:** *Lol* thanks for the review... Hope you don't get too frustrated with having your hope crushed for a second time;) And thanks for the betaeing again! Really, you are my rescue again and again!_

**charie: **Thanks for leaving a comment! Glad you like it!

_**XxRandom NemesisxX: **Thanks! Hope you'll follow it further! xD Thanks for the comment!_

_**Blackrose: **Thanks for the review;) Lol, yeah they were pretty close... Please, don't cry now, I'm not gonna let them die! There's still Anakin! _

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_**Ok, I think the AN is longer than the chap itself now...;) Enjoy!**_

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**IV.**

**Convince**

"Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead! You have to accept that, Padawan! You are needed in this war, the troops rely on you and we cannot afford to loose such a gifted young Jedi just because he has formed an attachment and is no not willing to let go of it even if there's nothing left he could do!" Mace Windu exclaimed exasperated, controlling himself just in time to stop himself from smacking his fist onto the greyish table.

Anakin all but yelled back at that dark, ever frowning face.

"He's NOT death! I'm his Padawan, I would have felt his death! You all know what happened to my Master after his Master died! You know how the ripped bond had nearly killed him! I would have felt it, but there was nothing to feel. There was nothing, because OUR BOND HAS NEVER BEEN SEVERED! AND YOU KNOW BLOODY WELL THAT YOU HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA IF HE'S REALLY- "

"Padawan, mind your tongue!" Had the situation not been so serious, had Anakin not been driven by desperate rage, he'd have probably had to fight a laughing fit at the sight of the ever-calm-and-serene Master's head turning to an interesting shade of purple, making him look like he was currently struggling hard against a sudden blockage.

In that situation, however, the way his dark eyes scowled at him gleaming dangerously and his face contorted to an angry mask which made him look like the monster in a Padawan's nightmare.

This Padawan, though, was much too desperate to give in at all. His flushed cheeks and angry glares didn't help, but he was currently just _not in the mood_ for being rational or calm.

No matter what it would cost him, no matter what he'd have to sacrifice, he never, _never _would let his Master down, not after he had been assured that he was still alive by the force itself, not after he had _felt _him so close. Almost touchable. And yet, so far away. So distant. Slowly fading away, giving in to excruciating pain and the constant battle of a battered mind against itself.

Force, he'd felt so _tired_. Not sure if could hold on any longer, if he could stand it, could bear it.

He'd felt so weak. Weak, tainted with darkness he had never even touched before. Not himself.

And so tired.

But it didn't matter anyway. Nothing mattered.

Neither Mace Windu's kriffing obliviousness, nor the Council's disapproval in general, not even the direct order, he had received by his new Master. He would probably get expelled, but it didn't matter at all. Nothing mattered. But it would be easier, so much easier, to set up a proper rescue team with the help of his fellow Jedi.

And so he would convince them. He lacked Obi-Wan's diplomatic talent, his patience and his skills. There was no way anyone who was oblivious to the team Kenobi-Skywalker would ever believe him to be the apprentice of the famous "Negotiator" (although Kenobi had tried, hard, to teach him the finer shades of diplomacy)

But nevertheless, he would find a way to finally get them to see his point. Just because he had to. Because he would never allow their stupid let-him-go-release-it-into-the-force mantra to seal his Master's fate. If there was still time left, if there was even a slightest touch of hope for a chance, he would _not_ let it slip.

He would not fail again.

Slowly winning a violent battle against his emotional self, he forced his breathing to calm, swallowed hard and looked up to face the Council Master's face again. He was somewhat surprised to find it gentle now, watching him with badly masked pity and compassion. His voice was quiet, sad and final.

"Anakin. Listen to me. He. is. Not. Coming. Back. Not this time. Accept it. Release him. End your pointless search. Let him go into the light. Grant him peace."

It blew him completely out of conception. Long held back tears dripped down his smooth youthful cheeks. A sob escaped his sore throat and only violently rocking shoulders answered his silent plea.

Knees gave out, legs buckled and he sank soundlessly to the cold, cold floor. The shuddering hands, clutching the holotable tightly, released their grasp and he fell. And hit the floor.

"He is not dead. I know, he's not. He's not"

The words were merely a whisper, spoken quietly between hard intakes of breath. But he spoke with determination and certainty. It was the truth. He had felt him, felt his silent touch, the blurred presence, the weak cry for help. He had felt him. His brother.

And as long he had a single breath left in his body, Obi-Wan Kenobi would not die in the ordeal, the Sith-witch had lain upon him.

He blinked the tears away and forced himself to look up and meet the relentless gaze of the strict teacher. Mace Windu hadn't moved at all.

The maroon eyes were still fixed firmly upon him, but there was a glimpse of pity in it, a fading sparkle which gave Anakin hope to get company.

One hand wiped away the tears, the digits quickly striking over the skin in an hasty attempt to dry it. It quickly froze, though, as the Master spoke, already half out of the door.

"You will move on, Anakin Skywalker. But as you don't seem to be capable of releasing your grief and your sorrow into the force, you will be seeing a healer. Let's hope our force-healers can help you over your pain, boy. May the force be with you"

And with that, he was gone, leaving a devastated and hurting Padawan behind, startled by the finality of the calm words.

Anakin just stared after him, disturbed by the cruel languorousness the Council Master had shown.

All his hopes crashed and shattered, he felt like bleeding again. The wounds ripped open again.

It felt like he had lost him a second time.

And this time he really had.

Failed.


	6. V Dream

**Disclaimer: Nothing's changed. Still not mine.**

_It's been a long time again. I apologize for that. Please, don't expect regular updates since I'm terrible in keeping schedules or anything like that._

_I'm not happy with this chapter, but... yeah... see for yourself;)_

**ObiBettina7 has again betaed it and I'm really grateful for that. She's done a wonderful job, again:D**

**Ok, just enjoy!**

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**ObiBettina7: **Nah...he wouldn't let Obi down... Would he? At least for a few more years... Anyway, thanks for the review and the fight against the many mistakes I made again! Ah, yeah thanks, have changed it in the summary *blushes*

**RoMythe: **Yeah, he definitely is... But often the right intentions don't excuse wrong decisions I think. Unfortunately he proofes right in the end with his opinion about Anakin. Oh, protect your shin around Yoda and his cane!:D I hope you'll like this one. It lacks of realism. Even more so than in other sci-fi fics;) Thanks for the review!

**XxRandom NemesisxX: **I'm sorry it took me so long again. hope you'll read it nevertheless and hopefully like it:D Thanks for your comment!

**DraKarina: **Thanks for the review! Yes, Anakin and the code are like fire and ice in a way... Lol I think if it took Anakin rescuing Obi as long as me writing a new chap, he'd be most certainly dead by now:(

**Syntyche: **Hey, I hope you like the way it developes:D Thanks for keeping reading and reviewing:D

**pronker: **Yes, much angst in this chap. Thanks for the review! Hope you'll like this one!

**charliebrown1234: **I know...I'm sorry again. I'll keep it up, I promise. Just not with regular updates... Hope you'll still stay with it. Thanks and Thanks for reviewing!

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**V.**

**Dream**

"Anakin"

He didn't show any reaction.

"Anakin?"

_Just fuck off!_

"Anakin!"

"What?" He turned around to shoot a deadly glare at the intruder, then sighed. Bant Eerin. He should've known she'd have to say something on that matter. Everything, _everything_ that involved Obi-Wan Kenobi seemed to hold some kind of interest for her. He knew that they were close friends, but that was kind of ridiculous. Never mind, currently he was grateful for everything that could help him getting permission for his rescue mission. He didn't care what Mace Windu thought about it, he just _knew_ his Master was still alive and he would not let him down to die an excruciatingly painful death. So he forced himself to wait till she had reached him.

"What do you want?" He knew he was being impolite but couldn't help it. Windu's response had almost thrown him over the edge. He'd all but believed him and his ridiculous 'let him go' rant.

He felt hot anger burn through his veins and turn into ice-cold hate as it reached his heart. It was at that moment when he had finally realized just how much he despised the Jedi Master and his beloved _code_. He would _not_ sacrifice his Master's life for the sake of some stupid, brainless rules, written down on an ancient paper, archaic since before Darth Revan's time thousands of years ago. And even if he'd jeopardize the entire GAR with it, he _would_ get him out of there.

"Anakin!" Eerin waved in front of his face to get his attention back.

"What?" he snapped again.

"Do you really think, Obi-Wan's still alive? Do you _feel_ him being alive?" Her big, silvery eyes held his gaze with concern and seemed to pierce his very soul. And he misunderstood it as another attempt of making him let go. He snapped.

"YES! Yes, I know he lives, I can feel it, my bond tells me and you and your stupid code cannot hinder me to go and get him. I know he's alive and I know he's being tortured! I felt his pain, for Force' sake! And when he is finally standing in front of you, you can confess to him that you've abandoned him to die, because of your kriffing rules! Just fuck off! Fuck off and don't dare to tell me-"

She didn't even let him finish his tirade.

"Anakin! Listen, before you speak! I don't know if he's dead or not, but when you say he's not, then we believe you! And we won't let him die there, either"

The Mon Calamari seemed angry and upset as well now. Anakin had never seen her angry before. She'd always been as calm as Obi-Wan if not even more so. He stared at her, speechless as his brain finally processed the meaning of her words for him. And all he could think off was, "Who's we?"

"Well, that would be Garen Muln, Quinlan Vos and I."

"So, you want... What do you want to do then? You probably know that Windu has forbidden me to go after him."

"Yes. Yes I know. But you wouldn't be you if you gave in to that, right? And Quinlan and Garen wouldn't be Quinlan and Garen, either. And me, well, you'll probably need a healer there. And I've sworn to help whomever can be helped."

"But you're not a healer." He was stunned.

"Yes I am. I am a trained healer. Just not an active one. I've absolved my training during my Padawan years and after I've been knighted, because I was stuck in the temple for quite a long time then. You know, because I've been falsely blamed for murder there and-"

"Ah yes well, alright. But what are you planning to do?"

"Well, we don't have much choice right? We'll go after him. Didn't Obi and you have the Open Circle Armada under your direct order?"

He nodded. She wasn't suggesting... She couldn't mean... Was she?

"Well, you're their highest Commander now that Obi's declared dead, right? I mean, except for the Council and the Chancellor, but Palpatine...I doubt he will interfere when you ask him not to."

"You want to sneak out of here and take over the planet where he's being held captured?"

"Well, yes, in a way. But listen. They'll probably have the prison heavily guarded, maybe even by Grievous. We are four Jedi and we're not enough to take over the planet, with or without that army. But, when we manage to use them without the council noticing and cut them of from communication for a while, they will follow our orders and we can break through their defenses, sneak into whatever they use for their prisoners, get Obi-Wan and disappear without drawing too much attention-"

"You want to steal them? That's counted as treason! How do you want to manage this? Not only that that would be treason and we would likely be getting expelled if not imprisoned for it, but we have no idea where to find him, either."

"I think we'll know where to look. Or you will. We just have to get a hold of the troops long enough to get away before they realize that we aren't authorized to do this. Or, better, you try to get permission from the Chancellor to organize a secret search party. We'll first locate him and when we're sure we've found him we'll pull the troops in to create a diversion."

Anakin struggled to suppress the sudden glimpse of hope which warmed his chest now and loosened the tight knot there. It was too early to hope. Not when they hadn't even found the slightest hint of his Master yet. And the force had been silent ever since his first encounter with that beloved, fading presence. What if it was already too late? What if they weren't going to find him? What if he was too hurt to ever recover? What if he'd lost his mind? If he'd turned into something too hideous, too unthinkable to be pulled out from the darkness, what to do then? The list of possible disasters was endless. And the chance to fulfill their desperate wishes diminished with every second they wasted. He couldn't afford to hope because he was sure he wouldn't survive to feel the pain of loss a second time – if they failed.

Again he felt a painful sting in his chest when he realized, how much he needed his Master, how much he relied and depended on him. How much he needed him to _fix_ everything for him.

He surely would have known what to do. But so that he'd ever get the chance of fixing things again for his Padawan, the Padawan had to fix them himself this time.

And so they started their search, knowing that it was a race against time itself.

Quinlan Vos still had contacts, spies, which worked for the Separatists and asked them to gather some information. Bant and Garen checked all Planets within three sectors around Jabiim for signs, first virtually, and then with the help of the Jedi who had missions nearby. They had to be careful and clandestine in order to keep the council's eyes blind. And Anakin spent his time meditating deeply in the force, searching with every power he possessed for the familiar presence.

All to no avail. They got nothing beside sleepless nights and bad headaches and more frustration. Obi-Wan Kenobi remained hidden from the Galaxy's surface.

And Anakin felt his heart more and more torn apart with every disappointment they had to accept. His master had already been weak when he'd somehow managed to contact him and he was quite sure, he wouldn't get better since he was obviously being tortured and in unbearable pain. When he woke up after a late night meditation, exhausted and again without results, he wept for hours.

Lying on the bed, the face buried in his pillow he let the tears fall, feeling every inch of emptiness and coldness that he'd managed to release after his deal with Bant coming back. The loneliness crashed down upon him with full force, leaving only a hopeless, whimpering mess of misery behind. He knew he should stop now, should stop and try again, for what it felt like the three hundredth time but he couldn't concentrate enough. The usually so comforting river that was the force, swirling around him, dancing, was condemning him cheerfully, mocking him, ripping at his sore wounds and drove him further and further away into desperation.

It was futile. No matter what they did, how much they invested, they'd never find a single man on one planet out of billions. Never. With or without the force it was a foolish hope to do the impossible.

The shivering body curled into a ball, looking much like the one of the small, innocent boy who had just been told that he was never going to see his mother again. That he had to abandon her on a hot dusty planet which had been home until then.

Fragile. Hurt. Anxious. Afraid from moving on, yet not able to hold back. Trapped in this brief moment where past and future merged, where it was not yet present and no longer past.

Who had not yet left behind his old life, but also not started his new. The short time, when everything shattered to pieces to reveal space and material to be build up newly.

Last time, he'd finally managed to gather the broken pieces and put them together again to create something new, with the help of his Master.

This time, however, he was _determined _to build the pieces the same way, they had been. Eventually he would move forward, but with his master still at his side. With his Master to have his back. To keep him together. He couldn't let him go. Just couldn't.

And with that thought in mind, the sobbing stopped and the rocking shoulders came to rest as did his whole body and he slowly drifted off to sleep. To wake free from exhaustion, to be ready for the mission, to be strong when his master couldn't.

His vision blurred, the force seemed to gleam in a calm pale light that surrounded him and allowed him to rest. He surrendered to its touch, now gentle and soothing again.

_Walls, black walls. Cold walls. Walls of stone. Massive and indestructible. Surrounding him. No, not him. It isn't him. It is the force. And the force moves through the narrow corridors, past heavy armed guards, causing goose bumps on skins, through the darkness. It slides deeper into the complex, now reaching the dungeon. There, prisoners everywhere. Some screaming, some whimpering, some waiting, some too injured to stir, some not injured at all and some already passed on._

_It turns left, then right, left again, speed increasing, faster and faster till the cells are nothing more than blurred spots in its vision. Then it halts. Stops dead in front of cell darker than every other and heavier guarded. The doors out of solid metal, not chains, electric and closed._

_They open. Slowly, and another four guards quit. Two of them holding a motionless human grasped brutally. He is naked except for dirty shorts. Emaciated, the ribs are far too prominent beneath the blood-soaked, dirty torso, weak, full of blood and dirt and with gashes everywhere. A very long one and obviously infected stretched itself from his back over his shoulder, down his chest. His head is covered by a black mask with gleaming patterns and signs on it. It stinks of the dark side. To the force, the man's presence, once so light and untouched has changed to a dirty grey with black spots woven all through it. The man is dying. The force shows him that._

_He groans in his semi consciousness and one of the guards, a tall Gamorrean punches him in the face, screaming at him to shut up._

_The force disapproves. Anakin feels ill. He knows he is going to be sick. Later. He's to concentrate now. The light is sad and angry over the treatment and destruction of one of its most loyal and powerful servant and that is why it has decided to act._

_The man gets brutally dragged over the floor, to weak to move, too weak to offer any protest beside another groan which gets punished with another blow. This time to his guts. He doesn't react._

_Then gets dragged out of sight._

_Anakin wants the force to follow, but it has other plans. It raises back onto the surface of the planets. Anakin counts six, no, seven layers of stone, they penetrate on their way above. Then they're out and in the sky. Cold red stone, everywhere. Mountains, crimson in the pale light of the sun, an inhospitable Planet, signed by the war and destruction of centuries._

_Then a name in his mind. As clear as the lakes of Naboo. The name of the Planet. _

Rattatak.

_And with that, the force vanishes and leaves his dream, his nightmare._

Anakin bolted upright. He was shaking, badly. Sweat drenched the sheets and his tunic and he bent over to one side of the bed and vomited violently onto the floor. With incredible effort he moved back and lay still, trying to catch his breath again. His heart was throbbing hard in his chest and he felt his pulse racing.

Rattatak. The home of Asajj Ventress.

Now, the pieces fell into place. How could they have failed to think of this? He sobbed again, but this time, out of relief.

_Up, get up, Skywalker! Get a move on!_

Slowly, he pushed himself up and stood, still swaying a little, but now with a determination that had never been stronger. His shaking hands clasped around his commlink and he activated it, waking Bant, then Garen and Quinlan.

They responded immediately and before the sun rose this day, they were already on their way, boarding the Negotiator, greeted by their troops' new Commander. A clone with the ID-number CC-2224, called Cody. The former Commander, Alpha-17 had died with countless others on Jabiim.

They got to work, immediately. They didn't even need to deceive the troops, because they got permission by the Chancellor himself, this morning.

Anakin had never felt more grateful towards Palpatine.

And as they heard the monotone, "Jump into hyperspace in _5-4-3-2_" it was soothing in their ears and they allowed themselves to really hope for the first time.

And then reality blurred, the starts stretched themselves into long, blue lines and then they had left their known space.

They'd just jumped and were now flying with physically impossible speed towards Obi-Wan.

Anakin allowed himself the slightest hint of a genuine smile on his lips for the first time since Jabiim.


	7. VI Fate

**Disclaimer: Look at all the chapters before. Hasn't changed.**

_**Warning: Rated M for violence, torture and mentions of raping.**_

_**So, here's the new chap. With an evil cliffy at the end ;)  
**_

_**These strange words are mainly from Wookipedia. It's an ancient Sith-language. Due to the fact, that it was very hard to create a sentence out of only the official words, I've interpreted their meaning and filled the gaps with my own inventions of what could possibly fit in there. So it should mean something like: **_

**'Dark Jedi, bind yourself to the shadows! Protector of the Sith'ari (thought of it as the Sith's equivalent for the 'Chosen One'), keeper of the truth.'**

_**They're not exactly the Wookipedia's words, but I hope it's close enough. **_

**Enjoy:D And please don't kill me for it, it's not over yet;)**

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**Big, big hugs to all of my reviewers:DDDD Thank you guys!**

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_**Answers to the reviews for the last chap:**_

**anakinpadmekenobi: **_Yes, he definitely is. I hope I didn't get him too much out of character, though. Yep, they're on the rescue. With Cody, but he won#t get a very active part, I'm afraid. Thanks for the review!:D_

**XxRandom NemesisxX: **_Thank you:) Glad you liked that. Hope you'll enjoy this, too! Thanks for the comment!_

**ObiBettina7: **_Thanks for the comment! Yeah, you were absoluetly right about that lightspeed-thing. And thanks for betaing this new chap too! I've left the tenses now as they were. No, it's not always present, just in the first and in this one, now._

**RoMythe: **_Hey, thanks for the review again! Yeah, I've already corrected this. I'm grateful for the hint! I try to stick to the facts when it comes to the details, but as you may have realized, it's getting more and more AU. _

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**VI.**

**Fate**

Darkness surrounds him. The infinite ___drip-drip-drip_ of a small water drop on stone irritates him. He's been forced to listen to it for days now. The only diversion in this pitch black cell, alone, hurt, cold. Every move puts his sore shoulder on fire, every breath is ragged and aches in his chest. And the only thing that is noticed is this maddening ___drip-drip-drip_ that drives him crazy.

Even the pain has numbed.

It's cold.

And dark.

His eyes are wide open, but he can't even see the dampness sparkling on the massive stone in front of him.

The cell is narrow, more so than before.

And nobody comes to torture him, to inflict more and more pain and drive him to the edge and then right over it. Nobody comes to savor his agonized screams. Nobody snarls in his ear and accompanies the whispers in the force with blows to his abused torso. Nobody to speak with, nobody to yell at, nobody to hurt him, nobody to hate. And nobody to distract him from the creeping darkness inside his head.

The darkness and the whispers that come permanently from the mask of evil that covers his face again. He can hear it. Sometimes even understand.

Sometimes it whispers to him. Lurking in the shadows it calls him.

_Jen'jidai! _

It already counts him as one of theirs.

_Jen'jidai sa jiaasjen! Taral sra jen Sith'ari. Saarai-kaar._

And in the eternal blackness it invades his mind. It creeps through the cracks in his shields, leaks inside his sanity and poisons him from the inside.

He wishes Ventress would come. He wishes so hard _anybody_ would come. Even to just cause further excruciating pain. He wishes somebody would just release him into oblivion. Into the light. But he's not sure if he can still reach it, tainted and spoiled as he is by the darkness.

He's long ago given up hope that Anakin would come. He's _begged_ him to come and his Padawan hasn't shown up, a wide grin on his face and a snippy comment on his lips.  
"Oh, come on Master. That was the sixth time now I had to come to your rescue, playing knight in shiny armor! I'm not supposed to play knight in shiny armor for my master three times a week!"

But Anakin has abandoned him, as has every other of his friends, of the Jedi. It feels like betrayal. It stings in his chest and takes his breath.

But he's stopped caring long ago. It doesn't matter anymore. And now even the clone has gone. Abandoned him. Alpha's likely dead now, killed for his brave attempt to rescue him. Stupid, stupid clone. He's just sacrificed himself for nothing.

He knows, he's not going to make it much longer. It has become simply too much to endure now. He is slipping, he can feel it. The man is grateful for the near end of it all - and the Jedi doesn't protest. Waiting is hard by now, even if it's for death. It has been enough now and too much to bear. The Jedi is exhausted, so exhausted, worn down. It's hard to concentrate enough to feel the pain.

He just hears the _drip-drip-drip_ of the water. Maddening. Never ending. Like this ordeal.

He has long forgotten how long he is already here. It feels like ages.

Physical pain is so much more bearable than this interrupted silence. This _nothingness_. The emptiness inside, only filled by dark shadows.

He's been trying to talk with himself, to tell himself what has happened so that he doesn't forget everything because he fears he does. But everything that has come out of his mouth when he has opened it was warm, crimson liquid. It takes him two days to remember the word.

Blood.

Even speaking has she taken from him.

_drip-drip-drip_

The encounter outside, which he is sure was the most beautiful moment in his life for he can't remember much from before has doomed him finally. But it doesn't matter because he has lost his memories about the world outside. About being free.

Free. It sounds so surreal.

Just a pity, they'd been captured again. Like in a hide and seek game.

_8...9...10...Ready or not, I'm coming now! - Where is he, where's my bad Jedi-boy?_

_I got you, GOT YOU NOW!_

She had not snarled this, but it his how the scene has manifested itself in his nightmares. He can't figure out the difference anymore. For him it's gotten part of reality.

She had been furious, he had felt it. And as he had still failed to response to her punishment, she had finally lost her patience. She'd given permission to her favorite lackey. A huge man with more muscles than braincells. And this man, this _monkey_ had raped him. Again and again and again. And Ventress had watched and laughed. Cheerfully. As he had lost his last remnants of dignity.

Never had he felt so humiliated and ripped of his decency before. Never so worthless. The pain, however, was insignificant in comparison with other bleeding wounds.

It had been the first time that he has cried in the night.

But it still hadn't been enough for her. Because then, the visions have begun. Visions haunting him during the day, nightmares chasing him in the night.

Visions, where he sees Anakin die. Slaughtered, tortured and dying, screaming and begging for mercy and whimpering. And then he watches Anakin slaughter. Wiping out a village of tusks on Tatooine, mauling unarmed prisoners in front of him, killing every Jedi in the Temple and murdering children. Innocent Younglings who have asked him for advice with widened, big eyes and a small lightsaber clutched in their small fists. Too young to understand what's going on and too old to remain oblivious to all the destruction and pain the clones and Anakin are causing.

And then the Anakin in his dreams turned into himself, just before the first blow and it was him slaughtering them.

It has broken his heart once more.

And then, he sees Siri's dead. Her suffering, suffering because of him, mourning and grieving, and then dying. The force shows him her dead body, clutched in his rocking arms. And recognizes himself killing her.

Then it is Qui-Gon's turn. Forced to see his death, the killing blow of the Sith, again and again and again, trapped behind energy rays, forced to watch him die, exposed to the guilt.

He has failed. Again and again and again.

And now he knows that Qui-Gon hasn't even been granted the mercy to unite with the force. No, he is still trapped in between two worlds, in the dawn of the force.

And it is his fault. His fault and his fault only.

Never before has he hated himself so much.

_drip-drip-drip_

But still he denies the witch the satisfaction. Still he refuses her and despises her offer and he feels oddly proud when thinking of this.

And she has lost her interest, eventually.

Now he is hanging there in this room for days, without water, without food, without anything.

And the Sith mask has taken him over completely. All that is left to feel is anger, hate, fear and pain. Only the senselessness of being, only the numbness in his weary bones, the emptiness in his heart and the weakness of his battered mind allows him to stay neutral. Not anymore on the light side, but too unworthy for the dark. The dark despises this pathetic huddle of a creature that it would have once so welcomed in its embrace.

He's been left to die.

_drip-drip-drip_

And he feels so grateful for it. Fading away into nothingness is the only thing he now wishes to gain, for nobody is coming back for him. Being released from all the pain, granted merciful oblivion instead of relentless shadows.

He can't remember his own name any more. Can't remember what he's doing here or how he got here in the first place. He knows nothing, his brain denies him every thought, even if it' just a simple one.

He is blind now, but he knows this is not from darkness, this is because his vision lets him down. The lungs can't remember how to breath, or what to do with oxygen. The offending smells of his own body and the sweetly scent of blood are fading from his nostrils. He shivers. It's so cold.

The force is there, waits for him. He can feel it now. It penetrates his mind again, the light as well as the dark, because the mask is no longer in control. He is too week for it and already too far away. His body goes limp. He can't feel it anymore. Not the body, not the agony that has so long flown like fire through his veins, not the bright flames his shoulder has constantly been radiating. No complaint about that.

Someone is screaming, loud and desperate, through the force and through reality. It pierces his ears and brakes the peaceful silence of the _drip-drip-drip_. He shuts it out and feels the sweet, soothing peace coming back.

He feels light. And easy. And free. And grateful he accepts the soothing darkness, embraces the comforting light that frees him of the cage that was his mortal body.

And his mortal self splits and his immortal souls leaves behind only a broken, empty shell.

He fades away into the welcoming force, feeling nothing but warming relieve.

His heart beats a last time and his breathing stops.

He dies.

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The human guardian stood in front of a heavy metal door.

He had puffed his chest proudly and stretched himself to full height which was considerable for a human male. He'd just been promoted by Asajj Ventress personally.

The job now was no less boring than his last guard, but it had a better reputation. It was a secret. Only very few trusted soldiers knew what or who lurked behind this door, chained, drugged and by now completely helpless. And now he was one of them.

The former guardian had suffered from a mysterious permanent injury, inflicted by the Commander as punishment for failure. No he was no longer up to the task.

Well, that would most certainly not happen to him. He wouldn't fail the Assassin. He was determined to become one of her most trusted soldiers. One step was already made. He had been given the assignment to ensure the safe stay of the mysterious prisoner in the cell. Their currently most important, most valuable prisoner.

A Jedi. A traitor. Still loyal to the lies that are spread by the corrupt senate.

Commander Ventress had warned them that a Jedi was never harmless, no matter in what condition. She had warned them that his mind alone could literally move mountains and his body could perform moves that were impossible to normal beings. They couldn't not be underestimated, she'd told them. Yet, she had also assured them that there was no danger as long as they would stick to the rules that she had set up for the few trusted.

One of them was to keep it absolutely secret. Even if Gorn didn't know the name of the Jedi inside, he'd been warned that he had powerful friends which were ready to give everything for him. And so he'd to make sure that the Jedi remained behind this door as long as he lived. He knew the prisoner was exposed death now. Commander Ventress had not been pleased with him. Stupid Jedi.

But he would not disappoint her.

His father, the war-god Rattatom bless his soul, would be proud.

He allowed his mouth to split into a small smile, ignoring the pain the move inflicted on the scarred texture above his lips. The smile was more a mask due to the ugly scar that contorted the right half of his white face. The Gamorrean beside him grunted and then a high searing, accompanied by a loud thud sliced through the silence.

The expression froze on his face as he spun around. There was not even time left to gasp as the blue gleaming plasma cut through the pale skin of his neck.

Another thud followed the first one as the limp body fell and joined the impaled fallen corpse.

Anakin Skywalker lifted his sword of light again and it was thrust into the solid metal and dragged into a circle. Molten metal dripped to the stony ground and the hot, gleaming remnants bent to the inside.

A kick with the force and the door swung open. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight, causing the first white clad soldier to pump into him.

He couldn't care less.

The sight that greeted him was - worse than the one in his nightmare.

He felt tears running down his cheeks, but made no attempt to wipe off the moisture.

Instead he tumbled forward, astonished, dumbfounded and startled. His mouth gaped wide open as were his eyes. They burned. A single sob escaped his sore throat.

_No!_

He had known it would be bad, he knew his master had been tortured, but the naked picture of pure horror and agony that hung there in front of him bore few similarities with the man he knew and loved like he'd love a brother. It was indescribable.

He heard the clones behind him shouting something and could feel Cody's arms around his waist to keep his swaying frame upright on his legs. He felt his lips beside his ears. What might at some other time remind of a lover's embrace was now nothing more than merely an attempt to keep him in reality to keep him hear and now and with a reasonable brain that wouldn't fail him now when he couldn't afford the time to make mistakes.  
"General, Sir, we have found another prisoner. One of the missed troopers, Sir. ARC-Commander Alpha-17. He's condition is bad but steady now."

Anakin couldn't give him more reaction than a brief nod. Not his problem, right now.

And as the Commander released him from his grip, he stumbled forward to his master. Two cuts with his lightsaber and the chains that held him upright against the wall shattered.

Anakin caught the once so strong, but now so fragile and hurt frame. The prominent rips that all but stung in his palm revealed only a shallow, unsteady breathing, becoming weaker and weaker within the second. A medic crouched down beside them and tried to find a shallow pulse.

Anakin felt his hope fade. Fear crept up his spine and for a moment he could not think anymore, not _feel_ anymore. He pulled back his force senses in an sudden attempt of denial, because what the force showed him was beyond anything bearable, beyond anything he could _accept_. The force showed him the future. His brother was dying. And the mask that covered his face wasn't helping matters at all. Because it radiated a fog, drenched with whispers of the dark side. All he knew was that it weakened him further. He didn't care about knowing more at this moment, either.

Anakin ripped it off with a forceful movement, using all his desperation to get rid of it.

The battered, bar chest began to rise and sink again. Only the slightest bit, but it had to be enough.

The dreading blood was evidence that it wasn't, though.

He clutched the vulnerable body tightly to his chest, rocked him slowly back and forth as if he could keep the fading life in it when he just didn't let him go.

Before he even knew what he was doing he'd slapped him, hard, and whispered into the deaf ears.

"Don't you dare to give up now! Don't you dare leave me now!"

The lack of response caused another sudden fit of panic, accompanied by hot burning anger.

"MASTER! OBI-WAN! ANSWER ME! Please- Please answer! Stay with me, _please!_"

The shouted screams had turned into a desperate plea, a horse sob, but still, the body remained motionless, the force signature too weak too hear him. He felt him fading away. Fast.

_NO! No, no, no, no, no!_

That wasn't possible, it couldn't be real! Surely, he would wake every minute, surely Obi-Wan would wake him and tell him, he'd overslept and missed the training session. He'd be furious but that'd be alright, because he'd be there to be furious and-

But then realization hit.

No, he wouldn't wake him.

He wouldn't wake him because he couldn't, because he was lying in his arms and was dying and he let him die, he let it happen because he was too occupied with daydreaming to do anything about it and he wouldn't do this now, he would concentrate, focus, because Obi-wan needed him right now.

He relied on him, trusted him and now he had to act the part and save him. Save him, bring him back, now, when the darkness had never been more prominent, when death had never been closer.

He _would not _fail that now, simply because he couldn't. He needed him. Needed his master so desperately. He couldn't loose him. Not now, not ever. He shoved his self-disgust and hatred away and tried to focus on the task at hand.

But Obi-Wan Kenobi faded. The body in his arms was hardly more than an empty shell now.

The last remnants of his force-signature ceased and was extinguished like a candle in a dark, mighty storm. The shield he had been about to slam down around his master's vulnerable mind was useless now.  
But it couldn't happen. He was the C_hosen One _for force' sake and even if he was probably the worst healer in the whole galaxy he had to have enough power to keep him anchored until Bant could steady him.

Bant. Bant could help. She could be the very thing, the small, crucial part that could shift things to their fortune now. She could save everything and _fix_ it when Obi-Wan couldn't.

He knew she wouldn't come in time, though.  
She wouldn't come because she was a part of the diversion they had created and was probably currently fighting her way through the endless rows of droids and guards. The bloodshed was unavoidable and Anakin felt not the slightest bit of regret for it. Or guilt.

Not after what they had done. What they had done to Obi-Wan.

But he had made a mistake and there had been problems with the landing sequence and that had lead to a split in their team. Now that small mistakes proofed to be crucial. Bant wasn't here. Anakin felt the odd and highly inappropriate urge to laugh. How ironic.

But there was nothing he could do to change it and the fallen warrior would not be able to hold on until she approached when Anakin couldn't concentrate enough.

And so he gathered every bit of force energy he could reach around him and gently invaded the weak fog that was the only remains of the once so brightly flowing light energy and started to reanimate the motionless heart.

Everything depended now on his success, _everything_. But he had never been good at healing, it had always been one of his worst subjects. Just until Bant would come, when he could keep him alive until then, Bant could rescue him. He knew it, he just knew it had to be possible for her, because he couldn't loose him. Not after his mother. Anakin Skywalker couldn't let go. It was his strongest weakness and his most powerful strength.

He couldn't let go and that was why he dived deep into the force, deeper than ever before and touched his master's very soul and struggled,  
struggled against all the darkness, but he felt him slipping from under his grip ___no, no-_


	8. VII Breath

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_Disclaimer: Yeah. nothing's changed. Don't own anything._

AN: So, here's the next chap. Finally. I've tried to avoid too much of a cliffy, but I don't know if it really worked. Sorry for the last one, that was really evil... And such a long time ago:(

This chap is not betaed, for ObiBettina, who's done a brilliantly job betaing it so far, is unfortunately currently struggling with the relentless pace of live... She has to deal wih an afwul lot of stress and as a result I'm now unfortunately beta-less. So I'd be soooo grateful if anyone wanted to beta this story? XD

Yeah, I guess... Just enjoy!

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**anakinpadmekenobi:** Thanks for the review! :D Lol okay, I admit it... Near-death experiances of my fav Jedi are my guilty pleasure... But he's not dead yet, so...;) Thanks, I'm glad it came across right. Hope you'll like this one.

**Valairy Scot: **Thank you for your nice comment:D I'm so glad you liked it! And thanks for the review!

**ResistanceIsNotFutile: **Thanks for reviewing! Glad you liked it! XD

**ObiBettina7:** Ok, ok, he lives, I promise;) Lol yes, this was an evil one... Thanks for the comment!

**RoMythe: **Ok, this with the fast update...well... Seems to never work with me, I'm sorry. But thanks for reviewing! About the rape...yeah, I don't know when or if the others will learn abot it... You know, Obi tends to bottle it all up within himself, doesn't he? Yeah, I though it would be even worse for him, because at least in this story, even if I'd like to think he's at least bi, he's hetero-directed. I mean, it'd be certainly always a horror but with that it's another shade worse isn't it? Oh my god, I'm really, really evil...

**charliebrown1234:** lol...It's not over yet, maybe you'll get your happy ending XD Oh, well, I wouldn't say so... My plot is unfortunately less than chaotic... I usually never even know what will happen in the new chap, before i start writing it. Anyway, thanks for reviewing!

**Mrs. Kenobi: **Here comes the update...lol late, but still... Thanks for your comment! Lol Oh, please, breath... Not healthy otherwise;)

**pronker:** Yes, he is. He gives everything now, Anakin;) Thank you for leaving a review!

**Rosabell:** Thanks for reviewing! Here it is...I hope you enjoy;)

**HannahT:** Lol that's what I wanted to achieve...glad it worked;) Thanks for the comment!

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**VII.**

**Breath**

One breath. It's just one ragged, harsh breath followed by a weak, dry cough and a sound that resembles of a whimper. And it lasts longer than any breath that has ever been or will ever last. One breath. And the moment when the oxygen enters the body freezes and stretches to a time that seems to last forever. A breath. Just an ordinarily sucking in of air, then a second of quiet stillness and then a raspy exhaling. Familiar. Human. Yet so different. It means hope and at the same it means desperation. One breath that decides the galaxy's fate. One breath separates live from death, that condemns them to live or die.

No, not them.

But one of them.

The bravest of them, the best of them, the one that has dwelled the deepest within the light and has experienced the worst of all shadows. The one that has not fallen, but been brought down to the floor, not defeated, never defeated, but torn apart by the worst excuse of a living being that they can think of, now.

He's defeated her in turn with stubbornness and endurance, he's defeated himself and his own body with his own believes and strength and the dark side with determination and the bright, dancing flame that is his heart so that eventually - Eventually there's only one enemy left to defeat. Now he has to defeat death.

He doesn't fear death. No, quite the contrary, he cherishes it, hopes for it, longs for it. And he will accept it without question or doubt when his time comes. Because he was, is and will ever be nothing else than a Jedi. And that's what they do. They accept death when there time has come to leave. They don't fear death because they know that the force will be there to catch them, soften their department and welcome them in its eternal embrace.

They don't fight it, and neither would he. It's just that this decision has already been made for him that day. It's no longer his to proclaim. He's as good as dead, his body is dead, but still, his apprentice would not leave him to it. He denies him this, claims his brother back to him because he thinks that he still needs him.

Obi-Wan knows that Anakin is all but a knight, he doesn't need him anymore, but the boy refuses to listen like he always does. Perhaps he does listen after all, but just decides to ignore him. Maybe he just picks what he wants to hear and leaves all the other lectures to the thin air of which he can wait for a very long time to be granted an answer.

And if gets one, he's obviously lost it.

Had Anakin listened, he would just release him now, let him go and relieve him from all the pain that awaits him in the real world where he's trapped in his aching, cracked and broken body. Had he listened just once, he would just let him go now. He would let him go, because this is the Jedi way. Detached, in the light, but hiding from the warmth. Fighting for the love but not a loving themselves. Sacrificing themselves and their friends for others, including their emotional hearts. Powerful, mighty and focused without any distractions that might mislead them.

And it works, he has to admit that it does indeed work for most Jedi.

Just not for Anakin.

Anakin Skywalker has never been able to live up to that part of the code. He has never been able to bring himself to sacrifice those who were important to him. Because of reasons that were as selfless as they were selfish. He simply could not bear to loose. And the loss of a friend means to him the loss of a battle against nature itself. And the loss of love. It means to surrender to the will of the force. It means to admit defeat.

And like Obi-Wan, that is something he can not.

But he _is_ the Chosen One. And contrary to Obi-Wan he doesn't know when to stop. He is the Chosen One. And so he chooses not to. He needs him and he chooses now his live. He chooses the live before the death.

Obi-Wan decides that he's been a pretty bad teacher there. The boy is insane. He's going to kill himself and many others if he continues like that. Even the chosen one cannot win against death.

But Anakin doesn't really mind his Master's protests or reluctance. Eventually he will come to his senses, he decides and despite the Master's involuntarily struggle against the healing energy that he pushes and drags violently through the other one's body in order to safe his life he continues relentlessly with it.

He doesn't think of the further damage he might inflict to the already too weak body due to his absolute lack of knowledge and skills when it comes to healing. He can't afford to doubt right now. Any other healer would gently wrap the force around the dying heart and mind and encourage it to beat again. The lungs to keep breathing. Anakin doesn't know such restraint and patience. He needs it to answer now and fast. He pushes with deadly determined will, forces it brutally to keep it's work up, not to give up on him. He captures the lingering, fading presence in the force, all but suffocates it in the cage which he creates within his own light in the force to keep it enchained and connected with the bleeding, emaciated frame he cradles in his arms and presses hard to his chest, forehead on forehead. It's a position that resembles strangely of the one Obi-Wan held when his Master died, impaled and burned by crimson flames of hatred.

There will be consequences later on, the desperate Padawan knows that, but for now all that matters are the occasional beats, the ragged breaths and the feeling of the weakened, hurt force-signature firmly in his grip. And he won't quit his hold regardless of what he can damage with his grasp.

It does, it does indeed work. There is a response.

He senses the struggle.

Just a faint nudge in the force, a moan almost too low to hear if not for his adrenalin sharpened senses.

And in the sudden glow of happiness that washes over him, he loses his concentration and almost his hold and the Master is slipping from him again, but he won't let him and then the situation is again firmly in his hands.

And then he feels relief welling up, hot and cold at the same time and it tears a dry sob from his throat. Tears he hasn't even noticed before are flowing freely now, unhindered by the infamous Jedi restraint, he's never possessed, unstopped by his hand or sleeve.

He couldn't care less.

And then suddenly, there is hope. A new flash of light.

Bant has arrived. He hears her shout to the troupers around him and Cody's automated response and then feels her kneel down beside him, her scaled face contorted in concentration, the big, silvery eyes squeezed to thin slits as she quickly runs her gazer over the bleeding form of the Jedi-master, followed by her senses and scrutinizes him carefully.

The gasp is almost inaudible but not too low to hide the utter horror that swings in her voice by the sight of the shape one of her dearest friends is in.

"No..." A strangled sob escapes her vocal cords as she bends over the motionless face in Anakin's lap. Shaking fingertips of fin hands are freeing the temples from the dirty, coppery curls and gently caress the bearded cheeks.

Then the healer in her takes over and everything gets on autopilot, not from much experience but from many years of hard training. Anakin feels the respect he has for her growing. He swears to himself never to mock over any healer again. Not when they are able to rescue his beloved brother and pull him out of this mess, despite of all the damage that is done and makes the whole galaxy look lost to him.

Bant sinks herself under the surface of the deep river that is the force and floats beneath reality. He feels her gentle nudge and the she takes over. She dives into weak signature in his grip while he not yet dares to retreat and pull back the solid cage he has build for it.

Anakin holds on until he is sure that Bant can keep the weak warrior here from the inside and he finally retreats from the outside to surrender again to the will of the force. Live pulsates through the live less body in front of him again, pushed and dragged and supported by the warm, bright glow that is Bant and he feels nerves numbing and bleeding stop. She is giving everything she has to him, but Anakin knows that if he wants it to be enough, they have to get out of there quickly and bring him to the nearest medical facility.

It's clear that they can't risk the long trip through space that it would take to reach Coruscant. Now, they have to be content with the next thing that can be called something like a medical bay that appears on their screens. They can only hope that this med bay contains also a range of Jedi healers.

The ice is very thin and only the will of the force can keep it solid now.

That is it's revenge for his disobedience earlier.

Then another shock. Bant's ministrations don't reach part of his body. He feels her pain as she has to retreat from the badly injured shoulder and now he feels it too.

The wound pulsates with foul darkness. The long, infected gash from the much too prominent ribcage over chest and shoulder to the back radiates evil. It stinks of the dark side and hinders Bant in her ministrations, almost attacks her and would she not be Bant and would Obi-Wan not be her best friend, she would have surrendered to it and left his body and mind. Because this is an ancient force, a force darker and colder than everything she has experienced before and it fights her for control over the dying Jedi. But she doesn't back down and even if she can't defeat it's evil glow and numb his shoulder from the pain, if not heal it, she continues and does not even consider giving up the rest of his body.

They will have to take care of the shoulder, she whispers to Anakin, but that is something they have to do with the old ways. A Jedi healer cannot help with this. Not even with the pain. They have to hope it's a wound that doesn't reach to his soul, because a soul this scarred is a soul that has been sacrificed to the dark side by it's servants.

Obi-Wan moans and stirs. But the euphoria they experience through this small movement is quickly subdued by horror when the motion increases and the Jedi tenses and starts tossing and whimpering in absolute agony. His remaining muscles are tense enough hat his spine arches up from the floor and his face is contorted, the mouth torn open in a silent scream and he winces in silent pain. Anakin presses his fist against his mouth with widened eyes to keep himself from crying out as he watches his brother 's desperate writhing to escape the agony, but there's absolutely nothing, _nothing_ he can do about. He knows that and this is the worst from the moment and also Bant is powerless against the pain, because it's not pain from the numbed nerves, it's the pain from the dark tentacles that is heating with icy cold from the heavily injured shoulder.

The body tenses a last time and Obi-Wan slips into merciful unconsciousness again, worn out from the exhaustion of the fight.

Bant has to struggle to get her hold back.

Anakin feels tears burning in his eyes and catches a glimpse of moisture in Bant's. He feel utterly helpless.

And then the Padawan snaps.

He can't remember what he has shouted to the troopers, which order he barked out, but fact is, that they are finally on their way out, two troopers and Anakin on either side of his Master, carrying him carefully through the stony corridors towards the nearest exit over countless corpses of guards and Ventress' soldiers into the light and Bant, her hands still on the Jedi's temples, walking beside them, eyes closed in a deep trance.

The group slowly makes its way through the shattered corridors.

Anakin surprises them very suddenly with a stop and the almost bump the motionless figure in between them into a wall. Bant hisses in annoyance, but doesn't open her eyes.

"General?", this is Cody.

"Bring him out, wait for me at the ship. There's something I have to take care of."

"Yes, sir! But-", the clone trails off, not used to question his superiors.

Anakin waves them off and gestures them to continue their trail. Bant's half whispered protest echoes unnoticed, because by the time she opens her eyes to call him back, he's already gone. She curses under her breath before she dives once more into the force to channel her energy.

* * *

Pain. So much pain. Everything hurts.

Well, but that means at least he's not dead, doesn't it? And this means, he's still got a chance to escape from this hell.

Alpha slowly reaches consciousness. He blinks a few times to look stunned at a floor that is now definitely moving. It takes him a few more blinks to realize that the floor is not moving, but he is. And the floor is the ceiling. He is being carried. With too much effort for such a small movement he twists his head and recognizes a blurred familiar figure in a very familiar white armour.

But that, that is not possible? How is this possible?

"Trooper?" He is horrified from the weakness in his hoarse, cracking voice.

Another trooper appears beside him. A trooper with a blue-red mark around his shoulders. A medic.

"Sir, you must not speak! You have to safe you strength, sir" He almost sounds concerned. What an irony. They were developing feelings. All of them. The Cloners on Kamino were wrong. They are perfectly capable of human emotions. Alpha has learned that during the time in Ventress' clutches. And every one definitely feels more compassion than Ventress will ever experience in her live. He feels oddly satisfied with the thought.

"You have been seriously injured. We're on the way home now sir, you'll be okay."

He nodded. When his brother says he will be okay that he believes his brother. There's no pretending in between them. But something- something was wrong. He feels like he ought to know it, it lingers in the back of his head, but he can't quite grasp it.

Then-

He remembers.

The Jedi. Obi-Wan. Kenobi! The General!

"Kenobi! You- You've to get him- he's"

"Calm down, sir, General Skywalker's on his way"

"Oh. Oh, good..."

Well that means the mission isn't a complete failure at least. He feels himself slipping into unconsciousness again and doesn't struggle against the dulling fog. Kenobi's fate doesn't lie in his hands anymore, it wouldn't use anyone if he drives himself crazy now. And his brothers bring him home. Everything's gonna be fine after all.

And this not so small adventure almost screams after a promotion. He grins stupidly. His brain is a blur now and the drugs, they've given him to sedate him.

They do their job and he passes out into sweet oblivion again.

* * *

Not so far away a bald, tattooed Sith apprentice opens her cold eyes. The snowy white skin of her head reflects the faint light that invades the black room through the smallest of a window in the building and grants her head an eerie gleam in the darkness.

A disturbance in the force has awoken her out of her meditation. Forcefully she probes the force and stretched her senses, groping through the corridors of the dungeon far beneath her.

Is the Jedi finally dead? She feels a faint sting in her chest at the though of loss of her favourite toy, but no-

Kenobi was still alive. Not for much longer, however.

She prays for her lackey's sake that they haven't messed with their prisoners. Else they would soon experience a long and painful death side by side with the convicted in the cells. They'd certainly love to return the favour to her torturers and let them suffer enough to satisfy her and she certainly is not one easy to please.

She lingers for a moment in the spoiled white flame of the Jedi, savouring his suffering, and then focusses on her other prisoners to find the disturbance, but then-

There, another force user. A very powerful, very angry force user. Very angry, but still light.

She recognizes it as the one she has never met but in her toy's mind.

Anakin Skywalker.

And then she senses more. More Jedi. Three more. And a lot of confusion in her forces and then death. Much death. A picture manifests itself in front of her inner eye. White soldiers behind the ragingly contorted face of Anakin Skywalker. The boy is angry enough that he can't keep enough focus to shield properly. Images are leaking through them. Clones. In front of faint silhouettes of upset looking faces she doesn't recognize. Strangers for now, but not much longer.

Realization hits and she screams out in rage.

_No, NO! _

Her home, her empire has been attacked by this ignorants.

Realization hits. They are here for Kenobi, she knows it and her hatred just increases.

His body is hers! They won't take it from her! She will honour her Jedi and his stubborn braveness even if she feels nothing but hatred for him. And after all the work she has put into him, after all the effort, he was still not broken and even if she hates him for it, she can't help but respect him as worthy enemy. She wants him for herself, but knows he will never succumb and if _she _cannot get him, nobody will.

He belongs to her now and nobody, _NOBODY_ steals her possessions!

Not even that arrogant kid, Skywalker! And with a loud cry in the force, she regains her footing, calls both her ruby gleaming blades in her hands and darts down the stairs that are carved so artfully into the red stone in hot pursuit.

She runs, no, flies down, aided by the dark power of her rage through the force and follows the faint presence that has become so familiar to her.

A leap, three floors down. She lands effortlessly on her feet in a stance that remembers of a cat. Immediately, she pushes with a powerful force-blow and the huge, majestic wings to the Hall of Memories open and bump into the walls with a loud thud, crashing the two stony Gundurks that have guarded the entrance for centuries and been witness to all her ancestors deeds and crimes. Their mysterious frown would never again raise the dark fog of her own past.

She doesn't mind this now, but strives into the hall, past the giant statue of her master, the only being she has ever truly loved that now seems to glare at her for her act of vandalism, but she doesn't even look up to him now with awe, like he usually does every time she enters this hall.

Only the empty stand beside Ky Narec catches her attention for a moment.

This is the place, where Obi-Wan Kenobi's stony double will stand for eternity and tell his tales of true heroism and honour during the war that carries the name Clone Wars.

After his body has been traditionally sacrificed to the green flames of Rattatom, that is. It will be the greatest honour she can give which the Jedi will be granted.

And with no little amount of pride she thinks, that the inhabitants of Rattatak may be cruel and brutal, but not without honour and respect for a worthy warrior that has died under their blades.

That, however, does in no way decreases the burning hatred for the Jedi and her contempt for the pathetic creature he was reduced to just before his death.

She might honour the man, but despises the Jedi no less.

She runs along the long, crimson carpet that leads through the hall and cushions her steps, but then skids abruptly to a halt.

_Kriff!_

She hasn't paid attention to her surroundings anymore, sidetracked by the burning fire that pulsates through her icy cold veins. She has missed the approach of a very powerful presence, hurrying forward to her.

She quickly takes a step back, or two and vanishes into the shadows, waiting impatiently.

If the boy wants to die, he should have his wish. Together with whomever she had to thank for this more than unwelcome interruption.

Then a sudden cry startles her. A scream that riddles through the force and reality with such powerful hatred that she can almost _see _the light side shrinking back from the blow.

"VENTRESS!"

She chuckles. Does this kid really assume this would scare her or is this just an attempt to very unsuccessfully release his anger? The boy is insufferably persistent when it comes to revenge – not a trait a Jedi should possess.

"VENTRESS!"

And then he bursts into the room, accompanied by an impossible blow of the force. The entire room is pulsating with energy, the floor is trembling, the glass of the few windows are bursting and the sharp, shattered pieces is hurled through the air, cutting through stone and cloth and destroying the entire hall. A sparkling cloud of dust follows and covers them with a fine layer. It's almost beautiful how the red light gets reflected and dances in the air.

Ventress manages to shield her just in time, but the rage in her burns up as she watched the cherished statue of her master spiced with sparkling pieces of glass.

"VENTRESS!" The floor shatters and now it's stone, that is sent flying through the air, desecrating the ancient hall and spoiling the memories of her ancestors with contempt.

She can't watch it any longer.

With an answering cry, she leaps forward and hurls herself at the boy. The blow is parried easily. Too easily for her liking and then she has to jump back out of his range, because he is kriffing fast, and strikes with strong, forceful blows. What he lacks of Kenobi's finesse and elegance, he replaces with raw power, strength and quick aggressiveness.

Despite that, though, there is no doubt he is indeed Kenobi's apprentice. Despite of being the total opposite of fighting style, she recognizes the expertise with which the sabre is wielded by the boy.

He might be even the superior fighter of the two. But he fights with anger.

And that makes him vulnerable for he doesn't know yet how to use it correctly. This boy is already slipping, so close to the final fall. He has done the first step of the dark path already a long time ago.

Kenobi's wasted his time. He will never be able to keep the young Jedi on his side. This is a war he has already lost.

This boy will be a Sith, there is a part inside him that is already one and he doesn't even know it yet.

_Pathetic._

Ventress almost laughs at the thought, but quickly sobers when she is remembered of what he is about to do here, when he calls Kenobis blade that has been lying beside Ky's to his hands and ignites it, immediately pushing forward again.

They both lash out furiously and the battle becomes harder, speed increasing, the violence of the force completely unleashed.

He might think it as an advantage for him, to face her two crimson blades with two cerulean, but this is a mistake. He is not used to the second one and for wielding it, he has to give up good part of his physical strength.

Ventress knows this and with new enthusiasm she attacks and kicks the sabre aside with a swift motion of her blade. Her left hand jerks forward, but with that, her left side is defenceless and Anakin uses Kenobi's weapon to penetrate her shoulder, the gleaming blade burning through metal, cloth and skin.

She hisses and feels a wave of anger following the pain. This was a basic mistake. One she should have ceased to do after her first fighting lesson with Count Dooku. How could she have let that happen? She retreats a few metres, leaps over an abyss in the floor to regain her balance and catch her breath while briefly assessing the injury.

It's minor, nothing to lead her to succumb.

But it slows her down and he knows that and the feral grin on his youthful face assures that he knows this, too and then with a forceful blow she hadn't expected, he sends her flaying backwards and she looses one of her weapons in the attempt to steady herself. She swears.

This is already over.

He approaches her with fire burning in the blue eyes, like a hunter would approach his prey. Like an executioner. And she knows, she can't expect mercy anymore from this Jedi. There is no capturing, no trial anymore when she surrenders. She's gone too far for this. No there's only win or die anymore.

She knows, she can _feel_ it in every of his cells that is pulsating with this hot burning rage that pulls him deeper and deeper into the abyss of the dark side that has to have opened a long time ago, she knows he would murder her with ice cold satisfaction, would she now beg for her life, for mercy.

So she swifts, balances herself to another style to surprise him and looks for a way to make a quick escape. She finds none.

This fight is almost over. And it is clear that she will loose it. There is no restraint left, no honour, no Jedi code that can rescue her now. Except-

The comm link on his belt sizzles and cracks to life.

"_Anakin, Anakin do you copy? Anakin we have to go, we loose him._" Skywalker gasps involuntarily. "_You have to come, now, there is no time! Obi has no time left!_" The male voice sounds urgent, close to tears. Anakin halts.

He doesn't move for a moment. And this is the moment where Ventress sees her only chance. She leaps forward and hurls herself at the Jedi in full attack. The fight is harder now, faster, but not fast enough. She won't be so easily defeated, not so quickly and he has no _time _for this now. She knows it and engages him harder, adds brutal force to it to make him believe she will last longer than her body tells her she will, to deceive him over her steady weakening.

To her own surprise, it works. With a last curse, he finally decides and a swift kick to her guts allows him enough space to make his retreat. Before he storms out of the hall he turns around to her one last time, the blue eyes gleaming amber and crimson and he hisses with all his hatred to her, giving her a promise.

"You're dead."

And with that he's gone.

And his unwavering arrogance, his absolute disdain of her remarkable skills is downright insulting and together with this awful smugness this is the crucial pit that makes his victory so unbearable to the Sith Assassin. Not the lost Jedi, not the bitter-sweet shame of being spared by the enemy, no it's the obvious refusal of acknowledging her fighting as a threat, as in any way dangerous for him. The boy doesn't even feel jeopardized. He makes her looking like nothing more but a whiny girl that plays with a lightsaber and cries if he dares to steal her pet. It reveals her and gives her prey to utter ridiculousness. And she is not even able to stand her ground there. He really makes her look laughable.

And as if all this youthful arrogance is not enough, now he even has stolen her newest pet.

_Her Jedi._

And Ventress gathers together all strength that is left as screams her frustration and irritation out at him before he leaves. She feels hot tears running down her white features. Tears for what he's taken of her, stolen of her.

She turns around to leave the hall and stops abruptly, looking at her feet with horror.

What lies there, round, glinting and broken in half is Ky Narec's lightsaber.

She screams again and swears herself to avenge this dishonouring of her Master. Not even in death the Jedi can give themselves to acknowledge one of their own for his greatness. They really have abandoned him all this years ago. Ventress feels the fire inside her burning. And before it will consume her it will devour the Jedi for their betrayal.

She swears herself to let Skywalker suffer before she takes her revenge. She swears that he will watch Kenobi suffer and die right before his eyes before she kills him. She swears that she will finish what she's begun and failed this time.

And not quite calm and in no way tamed, yet almost casual in ice cold calculation she stands and makes her way out of her kingdom for once. Count Dooku would be proud of her tranquillity and dignity right now.

Nevertheless he will most certainly have her head if Kenobi manages a recovery from his injuries which she seriously doubts, though. Therefore, there is no need for him to know yet. Not the slightest urgency.


	9. VIII Depart

**Disclaimer: Look at the last chaps!**

**Hey, an update! Finally! After, what? Three months? Four? Guys, I'm so sorry. Again. I just don't manage to keep any kind of schedule. And the harder I try, the worse it seems to get. And in this chap they are STILL on Ratatak. Yes, I know, slowly it gets boring, all this agony and angst... Still... Quinlans POV this time.**

**Despite all this, I still hope you'll enjoy!**

* * *

**charliebrown1234: **Lol holy cow, another one! After such a long time... Shame on me! And still no happy ending insight, but the next chap will play in a medical centre, so next time there'll be more progress... Thanks for the review, I hope you'll enjoy this one, too (if you still want to read it, which I dearly hope)...:D

**ObiBettina7: **Hea thanks for taking the time to read and comment despite your tight schedules:D Thanks!

**ResistanceIsNotFutile: **Yeah, it's kind of AU... Not too far away from the canon, but a bit... Will be even more I think...Thanks! And thanks for reviewing!:D

**DraKarina: **Wow, thanks, that's nice:D Again sorry it took me so long! Thanks for the comment!

**DarthAbby: **I'm sorry I didn't want to make you cry...:( But I'm glad if you think it intense enough to cause it:) lol Thanks, and also thanks for reviewing!

**pronker: **Lol thanks for the review! Yeah, she's kind of out of the picture, for now. Glad you liked that:D

* * *

**VIII.**

**Depart**

The dark mane shadowed his eyes, gleaming with determination and anger. Glimmering with an anger no Jedi should experience, for their codex demanded to resist it, but an anger he had nevertheless never been able control so completely by shier will and devotion to his duty as others managed to.

Not like his old friend. His friend whom had almost been expelled because of his lack of restraint. Nobody had even considered the size of potential they would have wasted, the graveness of their deeds, nobody had stopped to look, to really look into the future of the boy. No, they had given him up him without a second thought. It was by sheer luck, or, how they would call it, the will of the force, that the first so definitively reluctant Jedi-Master Qui-Gon Jinn had crossed the boy's path ones more, already on his way to exile on a small, infertile planet named Bandomeer and taken him as his Padawan.

Now, years later, this once so angry boy had become one of the emotionally calmest and most patient Knights the temple had ever seen. A creature of the council. A model Mace Windu was proud to show around as an example. Obi-Wan Kenobi was one of their favourites now, whereas Quinlan Vos was now pointed out a rather uncontrolled Jedi who was not so seldomly driven by a fierce need of justice that often bordered on rage. Not quite enough to be considered as dangerous, not yet, but enough to ensure that he was in the possession of the title of a Rogue Jedi.

And watching his friend growing up and becoming more and more the detached Jedi master, almost to be called heartless at times, had fuelled the fire and grudge he held against the twelve old beings that ruled the Jedi order. They had tainted him. Twisted the bright, passionate boy into a cool, composed man with this constant hint of sadness dancing in the force around him.

And now as they got their hold over his soul they abandoned him, confirmed him dead in front of the galaxy although the bonds they all had allowed to grow in order to merge with his mind had not been ripped.

Because this was the last, indestructible link that bound the young knight with the tamed flame in his heart to his fellow servants of the force's will. Bonds, his firend knew well. He shares many. Some stronger, some less intense, but always there, always pulsating with life. He still had not learned to cut his bonds. He still grew attached to people. And Quinlan loved him for it.

He knew that by now Kenobi's young Padawan was far closer to him than Quinlan, but he still called him his younger brother, from time to time. And his younger brother was now in serious trouble.

He knew the brother's Padawan had tried to speak with Windu, had tried to convince him to send out a search party and he also knew what Mace Windu had had to say on that matter. As always, the serene Jedi Master had stuck to his own opinion, not willing to listen to what a inferior would have to say, too used to the old schemes of orders and unquestioning obedience and so he had condemned their Obi-Wan. He had dared to try it at least.

No, Master Vos was not amused with the council's newest mistake, to call it gently. They were at fault this time, but far too stubborn to consider even the firm evidence they had been given.

And due to this, for Quinlan Vos, there was simply no other option left than to acknowledge the call of young Skywalker and follow his lead as he rushed to safe his master. This was not defiance, it was necessity. And maybe a little personal rebellion against the strict and unbending rules of the council and the code, which would've demanded to accept the loss unquestioningly.

And now as he stormed with a feral cry in the force towards the first row of Rattatak's guards, he couldn't help but to feel more alive than ever since this war had begun. Now, in this particular battle, he had something, _someone_ to fight for. Now he held the responsibility for not thousands, but one life, one life alone, but a life that was a life that counted. As well as for the hidden, often defamed man in him, Quinlan, not only for the Jedi, Master Vos. Right there, now, he didn't have to be content with a bleary principle to fight for, but with his friend, something touchable.

He would've never admitted it, but it felt _good_.

His sabre slashed furiously in his foe's row and the emerald blade devoured the energy down to the last bit of the creatures in front of him. This time, he felt almost none of the regret he usually had to cope with in a battle. But even though his, Bant's and Garen's blade blew quite a breach in the enemy's lines, which was immediately filled by clone troopers of the 212, the fight became harder and harder. They just. Didn't. Back. Out.

No retreating. No pulling back. Not for an inch.

Hopefully, Skywalker had already found Kenobi, by now. The distraction was harder and harder to keep up. Why to all stars of the fucking galaxy had a simple assassin, a mere_ tool _of Count Dooku just as strong forces available? Where did she get all this creatures from? It wasn't left unnoticed by the two that they were barely fighting any droids. They were, in fact, fighting an army, as usual. An army. But obviously not an army of the Confederacy.

It was not long after this thoughts that he felt a sudden shudder rip through the force. He tried to concentrate enough to locate it, but it was too weak to grasp, fading, far away.

He turned and locked his startled gaze with Bant's. Her silvery eyes blinked alarmed and then-

"I- I have to go..." She looked a bit startled as well. "Have to go, mustn't be late. It's- So _weak_. Already so weak. Have to go."

And with that she vanished from the battlefield. Her cerulean blade flickered for a last time against the throat of a tall Falleen with a ludicrously large axe clutched in his iron grip before it extinguished and she stormed off into the high building behind them. The very building they were struggling to keep free from additional guards.

It took him exactly three seconds to recover from Bant's stumbled words and the message they delivered. Then he took it.

Couldn't do much where he was, anyway. Not more than surviving his own battle at the moment. And as much as the concept displeased him, he seemed to have no choice but to trust them to fix this without him, this time.

And with that thought dancing around in his mind, wreaking havoc to his concentration, he pushed the increasing worry for his friend and the worry for themselves, as well as the worry for the republic that seemed to have become a permanent reminder of the failure that lay within civilisation and living beings back into his subconsciousness and buried it with the thousands of deaths they were causing every day. They brought him more than enough pain to snap out of it and back into reality anyway and helped him focus on the task at hand.

Which currently was: _kill as many as you can of this filthy bastards and keep the kriffing entrance free!_

Not really the orders a Jedi would give, but an order Anakin Skywalker gave.

And an order he, himself would give probably as well in this situation. That's why he had chosen to accept it from the Padawan.

_Well, screw the code!_

No, nobody could claim Quinlan Vos as a conservative Jedi. Really.

Then finally, after what seemed like hours but were merely a few minutes on his chrono, four clones supporting a third, half naked ones in their midst appeared on the field. The obviously unconscious clone was immediately laid down on a stretcher as soon as the two Jedi's team managed to reach them.

The General only managed a rough scrutinization, but it was more than enough. His mind recoiled from the shock. The air seemed to carry tales of pain and torture to his ears. He had to deafen them with the force. He didn't want to know. Not yet, not now, when he needed to concentrate. The clone was in a horrible state. Bruises everywhere, burns and gashes covering a body that looked as if it had lost too much weight in too less time. Bones painfully apparent and in some places twisted unnaturally. And to imagine that her main focus had probably not been on the soldier... The Jedi refused to think about it just yet. He would get to know, anyway.

And soon. It was not long before Skywalker's team reached the entrance, a floating stretcher in their middle and a frowning, for a Mon-Calamari very pale looking Bant who seemed to be in a kind of trance walking beside them. There was no chatting, no bantering, not even talking between them. There were all silent. Much too silent for Quinlan's liking.

It was an eerie silence that reminded him of the deadly quietness of a funeral where nothing but the sizzling and cracking of the flames on a black pyre would graze one's ears. In this case, this cracking was the permanent beating of blaster bolts and lightsabers, the relentless noise of a battle that sliced through their eardrums and replaced the fire. But the silence hummed even louder than the noise. Because the silence was a silence of their hearts and almost palpable in the force. It deafened them.

Quin felt a chill aching in his bones. He couldn't claim the calmness of a Jedi as his in this brief but undeniable moments.

They came closer and Quinlan heard Garen barking orders to their troops. The white-clad clones were amazingly quick and yet unerringly in their precision. The area was cleared and secured when the rescue party arrived and a gunship was about to land. He'd seldomly been as grateful for the exactness of the kaminoan cloners and their trainings programs.

They were walking in silence, a motionless form in between them, six clones attached to it, carrying the stretcher with more caution Quinlan had ever seen a clone muster up.

And then Bant shifted, for not more than mere centimetres, but it was enough for Quinlan to catch a glimpse. Too far away to assess the damage properly, even too far away to _see_ properly, he gasped, utterly shocked by the picture that revealed itself. Much worse than the clone. So much worse.

Or maybe he was just so much more concerned by the state of his always so strong, unwaveringly iron willed friend.

He didn't need to see the details. He was able to see enough that he realized, he just wouldn't _recognize _the prone form. Overgrown auburn hair, matted and stained with dried blood, closed eyes, the skin so dirty and smudgy with blood that the snowy white pallor was almost invisible. An awry lying blanket revealing a prominent ribcage whispering tales from starvation and abuse, the torso obviously emaciated and vulnerably bare and bruises, bruises ans gashes _everywhere_. It was the body and the face of a man so familiar, abused, scarred and wounded beyond recognition. He looked like a child, short, small, vulnerable, fragile even. And dead. But all that, all this cruel, senseless damage the body had to endure vanished against the barely pulsating, haemorrhaging wound in the force that was currently the force-signature of one of his best friends. Quinlan found no words for it.

He fought the urge to vomit. He stood, motionless, ignoring the flying blaster bolts of the fight that had newly erupted around him, unable to stir, unable to talk, to _think_. All he could think of was the abhorrent witch torturing, hurting his friend and he felt rage swelling relentlessly in his chest, accompanied by cold fear. The pictures the force sent him, as few as they were, played havoc with his emotions, fuelling the dark shadow of the backside of his heart.

He swallowed his anxiousness and took a deep breath and struggled hard to release this sudden longing after revenge, bittersweet revenge into the force.

Such feelings were more than unbecoming for a Jedi.

However, for a man who is forced to watch one of his closest friends reduced to this sorry picture of misery by such a sadistic monster, it almost passed as a natural reaction. Rage, anger, wrath welling up to consume him, if just for the glimpse of a second. But being the Jedi he was, he regained control quickly and the perilous wave imploded and crashed down in an tangled mass of loathing, fear, pain and sorrow.

Another deep breath, another release into the force, again and again, as long as it took him to ensure that there was nothing left than compassion and concern.

And yet, the fierce anger he briefly felt was boiling behind tight shields, caged and separated from his mind but nevertheless as real as the pain the bleeding form was radiating into the force.

The force itself wept and regretted. Regretted this ordeal which had been lain upon one of their finest servants. Quinlan could feel it. It shuddered ad sobbed. He withdrew into the part that still held and provided tranquillity and comfort. It was not a pleasant sensation to feel the light itself crumble with remorse. He withdrew into himself and searched for hope which he found somewhere buried and crumpled beneath what felt like tons of agony. He found it and pulled it to the surface, than tried to reach the unconscious, weak warrior and lend him all he could afford to lend of his strength.

He didn't know exactly just how serious Kenobi's condition really was, only that it had to be serious. It had been close, he could feel that, much too close a call to oversee. The force was still vibrating in the area, still clinging to the motionless form, still trying to pull the damaged soul away from the bleeding body.

There was not much time left. They had to hurry. Had to leave, now. Ventress would be a problem for another time, the witch was probably already beyond their reach. Didn't matter. In fact, he was rather grateful for it. For he couldn't say he'd be keeping his promises, respecting the oath they all swore to respect, when his lightsaber sliced with brutal force and barely contained satisfaction through her unnaturally fair neck, sending the bald head with the familiar and hated snarl on her lips tumbling down the stairs to the shadows of hell.

All seven steps to all seven Corellian Hells if she was his to judge. To punish. But she wasn't. He was neither meant to be her judge nor her executor. Even if he'd wish that. Which he didn't. Of course not.

He might curse her and damn her and despise what she stood for and what she had done, but after all he, Quinlan Vos, was still a Jedi and it was not his place to decide.

Only the force could damn or redeem her in the end.

He was rather thankful for that. The ship that had waited right around the corner of a hill to avoid getting shot down, came back and landed, expectantly opening his doors for its guests.

Slicing another approaching droid, an ancient killer droid, so old that it was probably a lonely witness from the days of Revan and Malak, in half and, chopping his head off, he caught another glimpse of the retreating group and froze.

_Where was Anakin? _Where was that blasted boy?

He was needed here, at his Master's side, not haunting down some random – oh. _Oh no!_

Just how stupid could – _calm, Quin, calm! You can't even be sure about this! Think!_

"Where's Skywalker?" He finally barked toward the approaching group. Bant didn't even look up. Her salmon coloured high forehead was knitted in concentration and a frown graced her Calamarian features, not overly different from a human's. Her big, silvery eyes still fixed on her friend's bruised, sickly pale face didn't even look up to indicate she had heard him. Which she probably hadn't, for that matter. He wouldn't try and break her concentration, that was clear, so he directed his firm gaze towards the sightless white helmets of the clones.

They had now lined up in a protective circle around the stretcher they were carrying. One of them lowered his gun to meet his gaze.

"Chasing Ventress, sir! He might need some help, though. And he probably should hurry, General Eerin doesn't look too happy here, and General Kenobi doesn't look too healthy, if I may say so, sir."

Understatement. Of. The. Century.

And then – suddenly - he felt him slip. Felt the weak presence struggling on the brink of fading. Again. Like he was made out of moisture being squeezed out of a sponge, he felt him trickling into the white fog around him, weeping into the force. His heightened senses heard Bant's low growl and her trying to get a better grasp onto the dying signature, trying even harder to reconnect it with the body.

The icy chill of fear raced up the Jedi's spine, emerging into cold sweat that drenched his collar. He had to forcefully stop his hands from shaking. _Close, too close. _Tearing his focus away he all but ripped his tunic while trying to raise the Commlink to his lips.

"Anakin, Anakin do you copy? Anakin we have to go, we loose him!" He didn't regret barking rudely into the comlink. "You have to come, now, there is no time! _Obi has no time left!_" No answer. He shook the gadget angrily and squeezed until the metal scrunched dangerously, but he couldn't care less in this moment. Still nothing. No reply, neither assurance, nor disappointment.

Well, they'd be leaving without him if he couldn't get a move on. A pity Kenobi wasn't up to kick the boy's ass. Now would be a good time for a long and excruciating lecture. Not that he didn't like the boy, but as the Rattataki light began to fade into the night and dusk began to replace it, covering it with an evil, ugly red fog that told stories about the blood that had been shed on the cursed planet, Quinlan Vos couldn't help but feel another wave fierce rage directed towards the reckless, ruthless boy that seemed to have nothing in mind but his own revenge. The selfish wish for revenge that had obviously devoured any thought of responsibility, duty or loyalty to his suffering Master.

"Garen!" The other looked up."I'm trying to find Skywalker!"

"What? No Quin, no! He's on his way out, I can feel him!" There was no reproach in his friend's voice, not the slightest hint, but it didn't help the fact that Quinlan felt a short sting of shame burning in his cheeks. So much for concentrating.

But he really couldn't be blamed, could he? After all there were much more important things to consider than Kenobi's wayward Padawan on one of his rants. And really, the boy always chose the worst time for it. Then he heard an aghast gasp. A hole in the white shield around the stretcher revealed parts of a heavily bruised chest. Every colour drained from Garen Muln's face as he recognized the motionless form of his childhood friend on the stretcher. He looked about to pass out. Bad timing, really.

"Garen..." But he'd already recovered from the initial shock. Quinlan could see moisture glistening in Garen's eyes but it was blinked away before it could transform into a tear and fall.

"We need to hurry up" His voice now unfamiliarly hoarse and serious but firm nonetheless, "get him into the ship!"

He started towards the silent group with Quinlan. He was right. They needed to hurry up. Couldn't afford to waste any more time.

_Where was that kriffing boy? _He felt him, felt him running now and relieve washed over him as the boy finally emerged from the shadows of the entrance, racing towards them at full speed.

"JUST WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"

Anakin didn't even stop to acknowledge his presence, but headed right to the ship, Quinlan in hot pursuit. And who could blame him? Almost together they leapt the last few metres into the transporter.

Closing the grey, dusty metal airlocks, it floated a few moments motionlessly in the last beams of light that illuminated the red grounds of Rattatak, then it sped up and performed a flawless, elegant half circle before heading towards the glimmering atmosphere above them.

As they departed from the planets and abandoned its horrors and angry fires to fuel themselves, four Jedi were circling a fifth one in their midst, clutching feverishly hot hands and whispering words of comfort in deaf ears while trying to calm the distressed, quivering form of a suffering flame caught within the darkness between the stars.

It would be alright. In the end it could be fixed. It would be okay. Just another nightmare in the past. It had to be. Just had to.

Nobody looked through the icy transpiral-window, trying to watch the reddish planet fading in the black distance of the space.  
Nobody looked back to watch their departure from hell.


	10. IX Oblivion

_Here's a taste of the story which I will hopefully continue. I am planning on it, but I am not entirely sure. After rereading it now, I'm not sure if I like what I've concocted here all those months ago. I'm not happy with it anymore. Not at all. But I will try to contonue anyway - or maybe, rewrite it entirely._

_No, I have not yet abandoned my stories, even though it might seem so. My sincerest apologies for the wait, I am afraid I can't promise anything regarding the updates. But I hope you will still enjoy those two new and shamefully short chapters._

_Thank you for all the kind reviews, I have not answered those because I haven't been logged in in ff at all in the last months/years (?) I had almost given up on ff and have neglected it for such a long time... _

_But thank you so much for reviewing!:)))))_

* * *

**IX.**

**Oblivion**

The nauseatingly sweet stink of decay, accompanied by the musty smell of charred flesh and ash rose in his nostrils, just beneath consciousness. Part of his abused brain registered familiar presences around him, dim and fading. Not more than whispers. The rest of his brain was still captured in grey nothingness, held down and tortured by agony.

His body felt numb now, but his mind screamed as his soul, glowing in the force, was still haemorrhaging.

Wounds too severe to be healed, too severe to be felt were ripping him apart from the inside, unreachable, incurable, triggered and fed by swirling tendrils of darkness that had managed to creed behind his cracked shields and wroke havoc there, raging inexorably and relentless like the deadly destructive nuclear particles of a Betha-Storm.

It was all he could do the keep from giving in and drowning in the cruel madness that offered redemption. Or, at least, relieve. Insanity invited him to join and he was inclined to follow its road into blissful oblivion.

Shadows demanded revenge for the pain.

The abyss into darkness offered itself as an alternative way to insanity, insidiously luring with sweet lies that would lead to an entire different kind of lunacy – the lunacy that could inflict to others what was inflicted to him. What was done to him and his beloved ones. What was being done to this galaxy.

Offered a path that he recognised – recognised only too well and would not, _could not _follow even in the poisoned, agonized state he was trapped in. It was the path that had cost his Master's life and very nearly his own too, so many years ago, now locked behind a veil of shadows that clouded all his memories, the good and the bad.

The veil that was covering almost every sensation, almost every conscious thought and emotion except for the pain.

The pain was still glowing smugly and bright-crimson behind his closed eyes. He wanted so badly to move, to scream, to convulse but couldn't.

Not only his mind, but also his body appeared to be trapped in its own cuffs. _He _was trapped in his unresponsive, aching body although the physical pain was devoured by the utterly unbearable agony in his soul and mind, provoked by the dark side that froze and tore into his very core.

Only once he had felt similar pain before and even then it was less devastating for then the dark side was not able to invade his mind, only scratch at the surface of a freshly torn bond, poking into the open wound, fed by grief and pain, but not able to tear down his shields and enrage his very being.

The Sith on Naboo had left wounds and scars.

Scars that he recognised now, badly healed wounds that reminded him of his Master's sacrifice and refused to let him give in – that demanded, harshly and clearly – to keep fighting against the darkness. And so he did.

But he was so tired. So very very tired. Exhausted.

And Anakin was nowhere to be felt.

Maybe he was already too tainted to feel his bright presence. Maybe the mind-blowing brightness of the fellow Jedi only served to torture him even further, instead of providing the so much needed comfort it promised. Maybe he was already lost.

It would be so easy to give in now. He was so tired. So tired...

And somewhere in a hidden corner of his mind a cold voice cackled gleefully, its madness mirroring his own and the pending doom that lay within.

And then, finally, it all faded. And for a long time, oblivion was complete. And he stopped feeling. And being. Everything faded. And he hung between life and death in the exact and ultimate equilibrium between light and dark which, at the same time represented the final level of utter darkness and was equal to the brightest of lights – absolute nothingness, the void beyond time or thought, the infinite abyss behind the force.


	11. X Comatose

**X.**

**Comatose**

"How long has he been out?" "Too long – far too long. Almost two weeks now. Coma. He's completely unresponsive."

A stifled sigh, badly concealed sadness in the force.

"We ought to bring him back to Coruscant. Maybe the presence of the temple will help. It's light, you know. It carries the legacy of thousands of Jedi in its walls. Maybe it'll help."

The voice was quiet, almost shy. Anakin did not stir. He rested his head on white sheets, one hand clasped firmly around a smaller, bony one.

The skin was cold. Dead. Ignoring the silent voices, he opened one eye to look at it. The skin almost as pale as the sheets it could easily be mistaken for those of a human corpse, even though this one belonged to a body that was still alive.

Even if the mind was not. And then the insufferable voices began to speak again it was all Anakin could do not to throw himself at them and choke them until they were silent.

He tightened his grip on the limp hand.

And squeezed his eyes shut as to hold back the tears that threatened to moisten his cheeks.

"Do you even think, he is still there? Do you think he can come back?" "No, I don't think so. I only hope. Because this is all we can do, at the moment. When not even Anakin can reach him."

"Then why relocate him?" A short pause. Anakin swallowed. Stifled a sob and willed the trembles in his hands to stop. "Anakin ought to come back home. He needs to say goodbye properly. And we both now, he won't do so as long he thinks there is still hope. And the temple will finally help him to let go."

This time he bit back a snort. But he did nothing to quell the anger he felt rising in his constricted chest. They wouldn't dare, taking him from him. Obi-Wan lived, if barely. He _had_ survived, after all.

His heart was beating.

Shallow and weak was it, yet it was _beating_.

They just had to give him time. It had only been two weeks, he just needed _time_. And time he would give him. And if he had to behead Windu and Yoda and kidnap his old young master. If he had to break into the temple and drug the entire healer's ward. He would do so if it meant he could save his Master.

He couldn't lose him.

He wouldn't survive his death. Not again.

Not after his mother breathed her last breath in his arms on Tatooine, after month's of torture and agony. Tortured by Tusken for no obvious reason. And so he had slaughtered them also for _no obvious reason_. For no reason but his revenge, mind him.

He had never confessed this to Obi-Wan.

He had wanted to, but couldn't bring himself to face the justified anger and disappointment in his Master's eyes.

But he had had Padme – to soften the blow and to quell his wrath. But this time, no one would be there to calm him down, to cut on his rightful anger and – as he felt – justified need for revenge.

This time, he would fall. And take Ventress with him. Ventress would die anyway. If he killed her with the excuse of a battle or without.

She would suffer. And then she would die. Regardless of what she was planning to do. Even if she was to surrender and side up with them.

The moment she would find herself on the wrong side of his blade, she would die.

If she knelt before him, begging him for forgiveness, begging for mercy – he would end her pathetic existence with a swift blow to her head. And he couldn't care less if this was murder. He couldn't care less if he killed her with the dark side. He couldn't care less if he was to balance on the brink of darkness of it. He would embrace darkness for this one, justified act of revenge. Revenge for his master.

She would never lay a hand on him again. And she would pay.

And he could not and tried not to excuse his plans with the Jedi's platitude of merely _bringing her to justice. _No. He would bring her to justice, but not solely for the purpose of protecting his Master, but for his personal satisfaction. For her pain. Revenge. He did not feel much like a Jedi in the moment but again, he could not bring himself to care.

The muffled voiced behind him were brought back to his awareness as they changed topics.

"- a surgeon planned? To repair the damaged nerves in his shoulder? I guess it makes sense. The wound is dark, _tainted_. A Jedi-healer would probably do more harm than good." "Frankly, I am not even sure the damage _can_ be repaired. We will try, though, if he wakes up." - _When_ he wakes up, Anakin though stubbornly. -"It would be a very risky intervention but if we are successful, the should will be as good as new. If not – well, let's say he would be lucky if he could keep the arm. And the shoulder. And the entire right side of the torso, mind you."

Anakin had to bury his fingers in the hard mattress of the cot to preventing them from folding around the relatively young, quite competent and in this moment despicable physician's throat and squeezing the living daylights out of his trachea.

Bant, who was currently the Jedi-Healer in charge of Obi-Wan seemed to be equally astounded, if less furious at her non-Jedi colleague's announcement. "You mean replacing _half of his body_ with a prosthesis? Do want to transform him into a _cyborg_?"

"We might have to consider that, yes. But don't worry, as long as he doesn't wake up, we can't do a thing anyway."

This certainly did nothing to quell Anakin's barely concealed and very prominent anxiousness. He choked back a sob and watched in half-amazed detachment as a single tear trickled down from his face and silently splattered on the pale skin of the scarred, still hand clutched in his fingers.

He followed the wrist with his eyes up to an equally still face.

Due to ill-situated infections they had had to shave him bald which even highlighted the dark and persistent bruises that covered his features together with countless half-healed wounds, cuts and abrasions. The ever-changing storm eyes were now closed tightly and had sunken deep into the shadows. The skin was a waxen, sickly white and stretched tightly over hollow cheeks and too sharp bones. The throat was covered in bandages which followed the rest of his body hidden under sheets coloured no darker than the marred skin beneath.

The prone figure looked oddly young without the trademark beard and incredibly vulnerable and even without the force it was easy to see that he was hurting. Albeit completely immobile, the almost delicate features were tensed into something akin to an marble grimace, lines of pain adding to the various wounds.

"Master" Anakin whispered, cheek pressed gently against cheek. He lifted his head as no response came and kissed the silent man lightly on the forehead, carefully, apprehensively as if he wanted to make sure not to disturb him in his convalescing.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt another tear on his stubbled cheek and swallowed heavily. How could this happen? How could he let this happen? He was the Chosen One. He was supposed to be able to stop those things from happening.

And yet, here he sat, holding vigil at his Masters sickbed, watching over a man that could easily be mistaken for dead if not for the weak but steady heartbeat. A man that might never wake up to smile at him. To lecture him, tease him, reprimand him, forgive him, fight him, spar with him, argue with him, love him. Here he was, sitting at his brother's bed, condemned to watch his silent suffering, unable to do anything, _anything_ at all to help him.

A moment of blaring sanguine rage tore a hoarse scream from his throat and his fist crashed almost involuntarily into the white wall behind him, leaving a visible tent in the plastering and a fine white powder on his gloved metallic not-quite-arm.


End file.
